Live Hard
by Gray Glube
Summary: He may not be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.
1. The Patient

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **Kind of starts off as an outsider's view of what's going on in Beacon Hills. It's a Derek/OC pairing that doesn't include someone's cousin or sister or out of town relative or sexy female werewolf that just moved to town or mysterious injured girl he just found in the woods on a lonely midnight stroll. Nothing against those types of OC's but I think there's already authors writing those stories and I kind of want to write my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 1:<strong>

The agency had called and asked if she wanted to do an eight hour at twenty-six an hour. She hadn't been in a long-term care facility since she'd done her geriatrics clinical in school. The recruiter said that she'd be in charge of four licensed practical nurses and that they wouldn't have to deal with students performing care at the facility until next August.

It was only the location that made her say yes, suburban town with a skilled nursing facility and accredited teaching hospital within five miles.

They told her the bonus for the full nine months was in the range of four-thousand five hundred and six thousand dollars, they were giving medical and dental insurance and accommodations with a grocery allowance.

Over the phone she made arrangements for them to transfer what they were paying the apartment complex for accommodations to her bank account and that she's find her own housing and drive down within the next three weeks ready for work.

The woman on the phone told her where she could pick up her uniform and said goodbye with instructions on how to get in touch with the Beacon Heights facility if she had any questions regarding procedures and protocols.

Once she had hung up she turned to face the hovering figure sprawled across her couch.

"You better fix those cushions and the afghan when you get up, bitch," she smiled.

"I _will_. Skank," her couch-bound companion replied much more interested in the cop show on the television than the other woman or her reminder of the proper way to leave the couch.

Popping her hip into the edge of her dining room table the older woman smiled softly and informed the younger that from the way she was laying her boobs were about to pop out.

"You're just jealous because men can't motorboat you. Who was on the phone? You leaving?"

Straightening a placemat on her table the older and smaller-chested woman nodded and answered, "Yep. It's over in Beacon Heights."

"How far away is it?" The other woman raised her head to catch her eyes.

"About the distance Long Island is from Buffalo."

"Long way to go," she stated flatly.

"Uh-huh, yup."

"Have fun wiping ass. It is old people right?"

"It's toileting, not wiping ass. Say that around your instructors and they'll fail you," she sing-songed at the younger woman.

"Whatever. When are you leaving?"

"I'm going to have to call the real estate guy today and get him to find me someone who rents houses because I am _not_ staying in some shitty agency bought apartment."

"Um, if you don't like apartments how come we're standing in one right now?"

With a scowl the older of the two lifted a pack of cigarettes of an end table next to the couch and thumbed one out, placing it in her mouth; she bent to find her lighter.

"I'm standing, you're sitting on you lazy ass," she mumbled around the filter.

"You know what I mean, Lucy."

"Because I _want_ to rent a house, nothing big. It's not permanent, and this apartment _is _permanent and since I'm not buying a house here it's more cost-effective to rent a permanent apartment than a house every month. Does that make sense?"

She found her lighter on the floor under the table and after lighting it and blowing out the first inhale, pointed at the woman on the couch with a glare, "And quit it with the 'Lucy,' if you don't I'll start calling you Ethel."

"Why would you call me Ethel?"

The older woman rolled her eyes at having her joke fall short.

"Look it up. You want to stay here while I'm gone?"

There was a huff of exasperation from her couch, "Don't care enough to look it up," and after a moment with no response the younger woman changed the topic. "How much am I going to have to pay in rent?"

"How much do you make a week?"

"Eight hundred."

Thoughtfully the apartment owner took a drag and tapped her nails on the end table's porcelain lamp. She liked the sound.

"Okay, then you can pay forty percent of the rent. While I'm gone you can have your dumbass come over, and you can keep that stupid cat here as long as it doesn't urinate on my bed."

The younger woman reared up and pressed her torso over the arm of the couch to grin and turn her face into the cushioning in a childish expression of glee.

"I love you."

Blowing a puff at her the older woman rolled her eyes again, "I hate you."

"You. Are. My. Biffel," the couched woman persisted. The older one stared for a long moment and shook her head in defeat.

"Ditto. Move over and gimme the remote," she mumbled around her cigarette, sprawling onto the couch and the other woman.

"I thought you had to call the real estate guy."

"Later."

"Dad called before."

The eldest sister looked down at the youngest who grimaced in pain as she shifted her weight.

"When?"

"When you were out walking Spike. God you have a bony ass, get off!"

"Don't call him that it will confuse him," she moved her bottom back and let her sister wiggle towards the edge of the couch and then used her abdomen as a leg rest.

"He looks like a Spike," the younger sister commented thoughtfully.

From her sagged position she moved her arms onto the back of the couch and reached for the ashtray on the opposite arm tapping her ashes delicately into the cut glass dish.

"What did he say?"

Looking down she found her sister peering up confused.

"The dog?"

With a smoky sigh she snorted and shifted her gaze to the television fast enough to catch a dog nip a bad guy on the butt. On his bedding next to the door her own raised his ears and growled happily.

"Dad, dumbass," she stabbed at her human leg rest with a long nailed finger.

"Owww. Don't poke my fat!" She grabbed at the offending finger and made to chomp on it before getting scratched on the arm in her sister's growing irritation.

"Come on, what did he say?"

"To call him back when you got the chance."

Phone calls from their father were rare and per functionary, unusually short and laconic. Each one had a reason other than idle chit-chat.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"I think he wanted to know when the new game is coming out or something."

"Which one?"

"The one with the zombie aliens in space."

"Oh, that one's not coming out until February or something like that, call him and tell him early next year."

"You call him."

"Jerk."

They both watched a police officer climb a chain-link fence in pursuit for a moment until the suspect was tackled by three others.

"You're the one that is too lazy to get up and call him. Give me back the remote, change it back!"

With a snicker the older sister tossed it back as she climbed off the couch with ashtray in hand to go call their father and find the number for her real estate agent.

"Fine, here. There's nothing else on any way."

Her sister rose up on her elbows and waited until she recovered from a light stumble over a shoe that wasn't hers, breaking her yell of anger about putting shoes by the door off before it started, her sister drew her attention away from a rant with, "Lucette, I have a question."

"What is it?" She was glad her sister didn't call her Lucy again.

"Do you think I'll see someone die in the hospital this rotation?"

The question wasn't one she was expecting. She was expecting a question about her sister's cat, or what to get their father for his birthday, or about why police officers had to put their hats on before getting out of their cars, the topic of dying people wasn't really what she had been putting her money on.

"There's a good chance you'll see a dead body and do care on it, I don't know if you'll actually be there when they die."

"Did you ever see it?"

"Yes," she called from the other room searching for her file box. Returning from her office room she set the box on the table and flicked through the tabs until she found the one with the label for 'APARTMENT,' on it.

"What happened?"

Distracted by finding her lease agreement she didn't answer for a long moment. Remembering her cigarette she sat down in a leather seated dining chair and finished it, remembering back to when she was still in school.

"The family wanted someone to do a blood pressure on him and my instructor brought us all in to show us the breathing pattern and he died while she was taking his apical."

Her sister had climbed onto the arm of the couch and kicked at the side with her heels. She stopped when she saw her sister's grimace.

"Was it sad?"

"For them. We were all just in the gallery, you know," she made a neat pile of papers she would need for when she made her calls later as she spoke.

"And then what happened?"

"A nurse came in and started saying bull on how a piece of him would always be in his children and grandchildren and shit like that. I thought it was incredibly insensitive to say something like that to the family of a man who just died right then with them still looking at his body and crying."

The thought of the experience was dulled like a bruise that had stopped hurting but still showed.

"How did you feel?"

"Like I shouldn't be in the room, like none of the students should be."

"Hmmm," it was a thoughtful hum and Lucette wondered if her sister understood at all.

Clarifying the sentiment and lighting another cigarette while she sorted and categorized the information her agency representative had given her she explained further, "It's not that sad, because you don't know them. It just happens. It was different when I was doing homecare for that one woman."

Her sister remembered the woman as Lucette's 'Old Lady,' that was what everyone else had called her.

"But you weren't there when she died."

Testily she answered, "No, but I was there the week before when she thought she was going to die one night."

"And what happened with her?"

"Well, that night, she thought it was really time and she was in bed and asked if I'd stay with her and lie down next to her and just hold her hand until she fell asleep and died. So I did and I feel asleep and then in the morning when I woke up I saw she was awake and when she saw that I was awake she said 'Damn it, I'm still here,' and we laughed and I made her tea and she died the next week."

She tapped her cigarette and took a slow, deep drag, letting it out after holding it in for a long time. Her sister waited until she'd blown it out to ask another question.

"How?"

"From her disease," Lucette stated expecting the question.

"I mean like, where did she die, when?"

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "She was watching television and crocheting. It was peaceful. She made me a scarf."

Her sister's expression turned aghast and Lucette choked on smoke from her giggle.

"Before she died?"

"No, for Christmas," she was still laughing at her sister's relieved expression that the old woman hadn't died while making her a scarf.

"The green one?"

"Uh-huh."

She thought they were done talking because her sister had lain back down and turned her face sideways to stare at the screen.

"How did you feel?"

Slamming her highlighter down the older sister rolled her eyes hard and deep up into her skull and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds in aggravation, "What are you a social worker?"

"No, sorry." She knew her sister wasn't really sorry, she also knew that she knew that she would answer anyway.

"I was sad about it. She was alone and I guess I was the only one to feel sad about her but when someone's sick and dying like that, you're glad too," she bit the end of her filter and clicked her highlight cap on and off.

"So they're not suffering anymore?"

She let her highlighter drop and stopped its roll to the edge of the table with the edge of a file folder. She answered while staring at the wall.

"There's more to it than that, but yeah. I think it's more about you having to watch them suffer; it really has nothing to do with them. It's a self-centered sort of feeling, because _you're_ the one feels the grief while they're dying and after they're dead. Grief is draining, it lasts while a person is there and after they're gone so the faster they die the less grief you have to carry around with you."

"I get it," her sister said softly, distracted by her own mindless jumble of thoughts that were more feelings than ideas or concepts.

"I know you do. Life's hard, Whatcha gonna do? Stella?" Her tone was joking, trying to diffuse the heaviness of the sentiment with humor.

Her sister mumbled something she couldn't hear. Lucette let it go and went back to her papers and let her sister rummage through her own thoughts on her own.

**Day 4:**

"Last girls' night for awhile huh?" A spread of three jacks went down on the other side of the table for thirty points. The card at the top of the pile was picked up after her card playing companion put one down.

"I get a three day weekend at the end of every month, I'll tell you when so I can drive up and keep you from going crazy because Bubba's the only person besides me that you spend _any_ time around," Lucette mumbled looking at her hand and laying down the last jack on her friend's for ten counter points.

"He has a name," her friend mentioned annoyed with the nickname. Her angry eyes made Lucette grin and blow smoke out at the other woman.

"He's still a Bubba, completely momma dependent," she replied carelessly and laid down the three, four, five and six of spades for twenty points.

"He is not, he never lets me cook for him or when he gets banged up he never lets me know so I can help, ya know? He's annoying."

"Because he's not old enough to know he can fuck you _and _have you momma him. He goes to his momma for that and to you for the fucking. Give it like five years."

"I don't want to wait for five years."

"Then find an older guy."

"But I like my _Bubba_," the other woman persisted, she hissed when Lucette laid down three aces for forty-five points after she had just thrown away the one she'd been holding into the pile of pick-up cards.

"There's plenty of Bubbas at the barbeque, Molly."

Molly puckered her mouth like her mixed vodka drink was lemon juice, "How can you say things like that with a straight face?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her own drink was warmth in her esophagus and stomach, like the whiskey was wafting through her chest with hot liquid fingers.

"It means you're crazy," Molly informed her from across the table as she slapped down a just drawn final ace and counter-pointed for fifteen points.

"Because I'm single or because I think you're relationship is flawed," Lucette inquired with a low chin and high brow, eyes peeking up under her hair.

They went back and forth with cards for until Molly caught the other woman with too many cards left in her hand to beat her score.

Switching to scrabble and a fresh cigarette the conversation about dismal and nonexistent relationships went on with minimal glaring and raised tones.

"Because you've always been single _and_ because you think _my_ relationship is flawed."

"What's wrong with having a relationship with yourself?"

'Jowls' was added to the board first quickly followed by 'sigh.'

"What's wrong with having one with someone else?" The freckled blonde asked.

"Nothing, if you're not working full-time. Jeez you won't even know what this word means."

She placed the tiles slanted and let the other woman fix them so 'deity,' branched off of 'sigh.'

"I like having a Bubba."

"I like not having one," the brunette insisted jabbing the air in front of her with her cigarette.

"You wouldn't say that if you had one."

"If I wanted one I'd get one."

"So do it."

"I don't want one," her whiskey was soothing and made the old conversation less boring and aggravating than usual.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm entering a nunnery and becoming a bride of Jesus."

"You are so funny."

"Glad you think so."

The rattling scrabble bag passed back and forth and tiles clacked down every few minutes, they got buzzed and yelled at the other for using the space the other wanted or that the other was full of shit and that there was no such word in the dictionary: Molly to Lucette, the latter was always happy enough pull out a dictionary and prove that, no, she was in fact not full of shit, or that the other was mentally impaired and that they were spelling the word they wanted wrong: Lucette to Molly, the latter was always displeased to realize that they were in fact not spelling the word correctly.

When they were down to a respective five and three tiles the blonde looked up and asked, "Seriously what's so bad about having a boyfriend?"

"I hate people," Lucette answered fast with flailing hands and raised shoulders disturbing the smoke tendrils around her.

"You're a nurse," the other woman told her as if her job choice had anything to do with her love life.

"It's my job to care for my patients; I get paid to do it. It's different. That's job life, not real life. If work was supposed to be fun, they'd call it carnival and not work."

Not enjoying or appreciating the thoughtful look she was subjected to from across the table as Molly took her time meandering through her thoughts on the subject of boyfriends and relationships instead of how to use her last five tiles.

"But you talk about men all the time. You should get one," she laid down the pitiful word of 'lay,' and stared at the three tiles she hadn't used.

"I'd rather have a rich fantasy life. Less stress, no drama, and after I get off there's no man mess to clean up off my sheets."

"You are disgusting. Man mess? Really?"

The 'really' made her feel like behaving badly and saying something vicious. She hated that tone her best friend liked to use, as if she were a child that needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

"Yeah, man mess, wet spot on the bed, cum, semen, bodily secretions. For someone who let their boyfriend give them a pearl necklace I thought you'd get what I was talking about," she smiled in victory at the angry red blush that colored the other woman's face.

"Shut up! I know what you're talking about, but who talks about it like that? How do you even _know_?"

'Porn,' was the first thought that came to mind, she didn't say it like that though.

"My mind is a swamp of smut. I know how babies are made and what men do with their penises, I have a computer."

"Why am I friends with you?"

"Because everyone else coddles you and lets you keep thinking the sun shines out of Bubba's asshole and that he's got a golden dick."

"I need another drink. Make me a drink. Do you see what you do to me?"

Pausing their game she got up to make the blonde another vodka, passion fruit, _whatever_ drink for the collection of bottles cluttering her counter-top.

She put on her best deep man voice impression and said, "You wish I'd do it more often." She flicked out her tongue for maximum creepy affect.

Molly made a face of disgust. "Eh! What is wrong with you?"

"Sorry, I'm liquored up. I'm being mean, sorry," she turned and threw ice in her blender and finished making the dumb drink with ingredients she didn't even know she had had in her cabinets.

"You're' mean _and_ disgusting. It's okay. Just, I don't know, things are weird with me and him right now," the blonde told her as she handed her the drink and sat back down to look at the 'R', 'C' and 'X' on her own letter rack.

"You and Bubba?" She went through all the words she knew that started with those letters that used an 'E' or a 'U' as a vowel; she was no longer interested in the conversation that had gone on too long.

"Yeah."

"Estelle is having problems with her dumbass. You're not the only one."

"What's her problem?"

"Stupid stuff. Nothing important, same as you." Lucette looked up and grinned at the pout she received from across the Scrabble board.

"I'm not going to miss you when you're working, because you treat me so horribly. _Lucinda_."

"Uh-huh, whatever._ Hate_ that name, bitch. I win, you loooose. Heh!" She choked a bit on her last swallow of whisky.

She used her final three tiles by using the 'U' the other woman had used to create 'flute' to make 'crux.'

"I hate this game. It's not even fun to play with you, and your big words."

"Four letters is not a big word," she informed her.

"Who even knows words like that?"

"Geniuses."

"Obviously, because you are _such_ a genius."

"You're making me blush."

They cleaned up the tiles and the board and threw the box on top of the Harry Potter edition of Monopoly and Disney Scene it.

As the blonde lay down on the floor next to the couch she looked up and offered some hopes on the new assignment, "Maybe you'll have some good-looking orderlies at the facility."

"Hopefully," the other woman answered moving her laptop from the seat cushions and onto her stomach as she extended her legs and leaned back into the arm of the couch.

"Yeah, do they have a gym in the town?"

"I don't know, I was actually going to go look on the computer and see if they had a community page or something," she pointed at the screen as she typed in her password and opened up an internet tab.

"Do it now. I want to see."

She double clicked on the search engine box and let the blinking cursor form the letters of the new locale. It didn't have a community page on the website she liked but it had an alright self-run one under the links on the page of their teaching hospital.

"That one, click it," Molly pointed with finger whose nail bore chipped blue polish and the ugly purple of the color before it still on the cuticle.

"I know. Stop being a backseat keyboarder."

She clicked the link and a picture of the town's welcome sign greeted her with the local temperature and weather forecast in a tiny box to the right and a list of links to the left. A sentence in white with red blocking slid by underneath the picture.

"What's that rolling red thing at the bottom say?"

"The marquee?"

"Okay Miss Big Words, just click."

"Clicking."

The marquee led to a public advisory on local sightings of roaming/foraging animal(s) throughout the community. It had the number of the local animal control authorities and a link off-site of what to do if encountered by the roaming animals.

"What's that mean?" Molly asked.

"I think it's the phrase they use for stray bears and stuff," wondering even as she said it if bears spent a lot of time roaming into suburban backyards.

"Bears?"

Clicking the link off-site it led to a page of how-to tips for not getting killed by big cats.

"Mountain lions."

With a laugh the other girl attracted her attention away from the computer and down towards the floor next to the couch. Leaning back on her elbows Molly looked positively gleeful.

"Looks like you picked a good place to work. I'm jealous, I'd love to work in an environment where there's a high risk of being mauled to death by wild animals."

"Mountain lion, singular not plural, it's not a zoo stampede of various animals or many mountain lions, mountain lions: plural. Mountain lion: singular, as in one, uno, solitary."

She let the other girl take her laptop and play around on it and read the article she had went back to, the local news report on the subject of the advisory.

"Did you read this?"

"I skimmed," her buzz was making her deliciously weightless and mumbly in her speech.

"One person says it's a mountain lion, another says it's a bipedal bear and down at the bottom someone says it might be a subspecies of wolf."

"A subspecies of wolf is a wild dog; see they try to make themselves sound smart by saying dog in a roundabout way," she told her with a smile teasing the corners of her mouth at her own intelligence.

"Maybe it's Bigfoot."

"And since mountain lions and wolves and dogs walk on four legs the fact that they used the word bipedal is superfluous," she continued on, ignoring the comment about Bigfoot.

"You are obnoxious when you're buzzed, I hope you know."

A finger poked at her cheek, she slapped it away.

"Also bears are only bipedal when they rear up to snarl or scare something or when they're trying to reach something, like bee hives; they don't walk around like that."

"I told you it's Bigfoot. Bee hives?"

"Yeah, bears like honey."

"They do not, they eat fish."

"_And_ honey, see exhibit pooh bear." She slurred the tiniest of bits, more happy and dozing than actually alcohol induced.

"You get all your facts about bears from Winnie the Pooh?"

"Actually I get them from Robin Goodfellow."

"Who's that?"

At the question she opened her eyes and rolled them so the other woman could see her do it and know that the question was a stupid one.

"You and my sister are stupid."

"Your joke references are stupid."

"Watch more television and you'd get them."

"Whatever."

Lucette took the laptop back and sat up straighter from her formerly slouched position. "Can I ex out of this? I want to see what else they have in the town before I actually get there."

"Yeah, okay. Ex out and look at the town directory, it's on the left."

Molly pointed at the screen again, the brunette grabbed for the finger but wasn't fast enough to catch it in her palm.

"I know where it is, I just saw it like two minutes ago; I didn't just have a seizure and forget I saw it."

"I think you have absence seizures, did I tell you that?"

The directory of stores and local attractions popped up from the link.

"I just don't listen to you, that doesn't classify as abnormal brain activity, it is classified as me not giving a shit."

"I'm serious. You don't even know you do it. You zone out, or you'll ask a question and I'll answer and you won't remember if I answered it. And you do it with other people too."

"I'll make an appointment to have my brain dissected as soon as possible then, in that case."

"I think it's hereditary."

"What?"

"You're dad is exactly the same way, maybe you just picked it up from him."

"Aspergers is said to be linked to a male carrier," she remembered from her pediatrics rotation in school. Molly scoffed and crawled up onto the couch, letting Lucette's feet drop in her lap. "You're not autistic."

"It's autism without cognitive issue; it's a social deficit, not a mental," she explained going back to the search engine and bringing up her medical dictionary site to show the other woman the definition of the disorder.

She passed the laptop over and watched her friend read it with a smile turning into a grin and then into an absolute gorge in the middle of her face.

She read the page aloud on the edge of cracking up, "Incapable of basic human empathy, yep sounds like you, unable to understand humor in a nonliteral way, yep that's you, and one-sided verbosity with lack of eye contact during speech, oh my god, that's you!"

The blonde let the giggles spill out and quickly they turned into gasps for air.

"Sounds like me. I am Aspergic," the brunette agreed.

"Not a word."

"I'm being _unilaterally verbose_."

"Jesus Christ," Molly rolled her eyes.

"Kathleen," Lucette smirked.

"What?"

The brunette laughed and told her, "Another television joke, which you did not get at all."

"Who's Kathleen?"

"Nobody, now _I_ need a drink."

* * *

><p><strong>Day 10:<strong>

"I think, young man that you are behaving very badly today," she spoke with a downward stare. Sidestepping a gap in the pavement she stumbled over a too long shoelace bow.

She bent a re-tied her sneaker frowning that her nail-polish didn't exactly match the shade of the shoe like she had thought it did, mint green instead of grass stain green. "Did you know that?" She asked at eye level with the wet eyed stare.

"You _know_ when you're being naughty. So bad, and misbehaved. By the way do you have to drool so much?" Scratching at the large animal's ears she smiled softly.

Drool was collecting and threatening to drop at the corner of the dog's jowls. Picking her knee up from the ground she pressed the denim to the slobber and with a shift wiped it away.

"I think I should make you a monogrammed slobber rag. What do you think? As a Christmas present, though. Monogramming is expensive; I'd have to send away for it and everything," letting out a heavy breath as she stood she kept her eyes on the now upward stare from the dog.

"Are you listening to me, bad boy?" She let him walk along father in front while she trailed behind to watch a team practice through the chain-link around the sports ground of the highschool. There was a hard tug on the other end of the lease, "Quit it. Naughty boys, do _not_ get treats," turning his head with raised ears at the word treat the dog's expression seemed to say 'yes, please.'

"If you behave then _maybe_ you can have a treat after."

The teams on the field broke for a break, soccer and lacrosse. Without the extra padding above the waist as the other team had several soccer players stripped down to bare chest and flopped unto the grass.

She hummed in approval and stood to watch, wondering if her sunglasses made her look alluring or creepy. After considering the thought idly she figured since she was a woman it was more a more seductive image than if she was a man walking his dog watching half-naked highschool boys play violent sports.

A ball slapped into the fence, rattling it. Stepping back out of surprise she rolled her eyes when a loud bark of displeasure came out of her companion.

"Don't bark, jeez you are going to get me in trouble. Don't be jealous they are a little too young, jail bait, for _sure_. Cute and shirtless, but still young. Molls would call me a cradle robber and Stella would want me to send one home to replace the one she's got."

Continuing to bark as one of the players ran over to collect the small ball she reprimanded the dog with a sharp tug on the lease.

"Brigadier, _bolo_."

The mastiff quieted instantly, "Good boy, I knew you weren't really being naughty. You are so _good_. Treats for you," she feed him a bone shaped treat from her pocket and pulled at his flopping jowls affectionately.

The sound of a heated discussion between two guys at the edge of the student parking lot at the end of the fence made her dog run forward and growl at the duo at a far enough distance away that she couldn't exactly make them out to determine if they were attractive.

She chastised herself for wondering about looks rather than if her dog was alarming them.

"Brigadier, _rally_." Her tone was stern and not pleased since even a sharp tug prior had failed to get him to let up on the growling.

"Good boy, Brigadier," she stated tersely and with a hard look directed at the off put animal, "Now put those teeth away."

The duo came around the corner, they were too young but cute in a school boy way, not her type but it didn't keep her from giving them a once over and respective ratings of seven and six point five.

"Woah! Big dog!" The shorter boy did a full circle, running into his friend and looking back at the dog with a leg raised as a protective measure.

"Brigadier, you and those teeth," she sighed shaking her head and winding the lease around her fist, the cuter of the two tripped over his friend's feet and had to catch himself on the fence.

He straightened and stepped out of her path; he took his friend by the arm and jerked him away.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Not a problem. _Trot_," she commanded with an irritated clip in her voice brought on by her dog's return to growling like the apologetic boy had a steak in his pants.

With a mental giggle she shook off her self-centered amusement at the idea of boys having meat in their pants. The duo walked off across the parking lot, the smaller boy looking back over at the dog as if she was going to set it after them.

"Your first walk and you are already scaring boys, so possessive," she chided confused as to why exactly her dog seemed more interested in teenage boys than she did for the brief moment.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 12:<strong>

"Why on earth do you have all these books?" Molly huffed from three stairs behind her.

She was glad her friend couldn't see her smile; if she had she would have called her obnoxious, "Because it makes me look smart."

"I knew it."

"I don't even know how to read," Lucette joked walking into her new office room and dropping the heavy box of medical textbooks onto the floor with a bang.

"Is this required reading for your BSN?" The blonde had lifted a book on cardiac pacing from the lighter box her friend had given her to carry up the stairs.

"No, why?" A look of disgust crossed the other girl's features at the answer. "Then why do you have it?"

"Because I like cardiology," the brunette shrugged sending her long braid off her shoulder and down her back already knowing what was coming.

"Jesus Christ."

"What?" Despite knowing exactly where the conversation was going she had to ask, she busied herself with pulling out books and putting them on the half-full book case.

"You should be a doctor."

She turned with three books in her hand and stared at her best friend who leaned against the desk in the room.

"I thought about it," Lucette admitted with a much less enthusiastic shrug than before.

"Well, why don't you do it? Girl who reads books on heart rhythms for _enjoyment_."

She laughed loudly at the idea, "Ha! Um, money. Kind of need a lot of it to go to med school. And I read fictional romance for pleasure, did you know they call the ones with vampires and fairies and stuff 'Urban Fantasy?' Like there's a surplus of paranormal romance happening in big cities."

Molly sat on the desk and played with a pad of post-its she held one end and let the other fall to the floor in a slinky like motion. "I don't care. Besides back on the topic of school it's not like you don't have it, money wise."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She filled up the shelf she'd been working on and moved to the one under it, wiping sweat away from her neck with her hand.

"That you work enough to go through med school twice."

"I could pay for it if I didn't have an apartment and if I worked full-time to pay my car bills and still go out and be able to buy girl products. And don't say 'back on the topic,' my tangent on the classification of romance novels is much more important and interesting."

"So do it. Med school, not the reading of romance novels."

"I don't _want _to be a doctor." She turned around to lean on the bookcase and give her friend an exasperated look, "Too much work for too little pay and too many hours. It's not worth it today. Nurse practitioner is the next thing, but I want to have a break from school for at least another year."

"So you'll work and save up," Molly smiled and shook her head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Uh-huh. That's the plan. Or you know I could blow all my savings on lotto and booze and hope to hit the jackpot and buy my own island."

"Go for it," her friend once again became more interested in the post-its and paperclips. Lucette took the behavior as her cue to finish filling shelves.

"Or I could spend all my money on high class gigolos whom I would shower with expensive love tokens," she remarked over her shoulder as she crouched down and opened another box.

"Oh my god, yes! You can have a live in gigolo!"

"If I could find one that knew how to cook, do laundry, iron, vacuum, and give the dog a bath I'd do it. But those gigolos are so selfish; all they do is have sex with you for obscene amounts of money for a short period of time. Lazy bastards."

Grabbing her keys off a higher shelf she used the one for her car to cut through the packaging tape and made a pile of books as high as her knee next to her.

"You need to get laid."

The idea was not a new one. She appreciated the sentiment but it was old. "I need a massage."

"Good luck getting both from the same guy."

"That's precisely my point," she turned and let herself fall out of the crouch she'd been holding and stretched her legs on the wood floor in front of her.

Molly hopped from the desk and sat down next to her; she bumped the toe of her sneaker to Lucette's, and let her bump it back.

"Why do rented houses have furniture but not plates? Is it always like that?"

"For the most part, at least I have a television."

"With the cable?"

"No, that I have to pay for. I don't have to pay for utilities though. Which is nice."

They lapsed into silence and stared at the desk and the wall behind it for a long while. "Can I stay here tonight and drive back in the morning?"

"Sure. I was surprised when you called and asked if I wanted the help unpacking, by the way," she turned her head to meet the other girl's eyes.

"I wasn't going to; it was kind of a spur of the moment thing."

"Wasn't the game this week?" Lucette remembered hearing about it earlier.

"Uh-huh."

The affirmation surprised her. "Why aren't you at the game then?"

"Because I decided to come down and help my best friend move into her new domicile."

"You and your big words,_ soooooo_ irritating," she joked while sagging to the side and pushing Molly to the floor sideways with her body weight.

"Oh, shut up!" She got a lazy kick to her shin and shove back into an upright position for her efforts.

"Bubba being an ass?"

"A big stupid fucking asshole is more correct at this point in time," Molly banged her head back; it sent the books back further into the shelf.

"What did he do?"

"Stupid guy shit. He yelled at me for trying to 'baby' him," her friend answered with a single eye peeked open.

"Hmmm," she closed her own eyes and relaxed.

"Go ahead; tell me it's my fault. You told me this would happen and you were right. Go on say it."

"Don't have to, you already know what happened. I'm not going to yell at you, it was your choice. Whether it was your fault or not I'm still going to side with you because I'm your friend not Bubba's."

"I love you."

"I love you for helping me carry all my books upstairs. I do have a lot don't I?" She looked around at the six other boxes in the room, there were still four downstairs.

"It borders on obsessive."

With a snicker she nodded, "That was a pretty good pun."

"What?"

"_Borders_ on obsessive, books, Borders. Borders books," she explained with her eyes closed.

"I wasn't even trying to make a joke."

"You're just inherently funny; since you're staying the night I guess we should have drinks."

There was an aggravated growl next to her, "No drunk Scrabble tonight, please no drunk Scrabble, I can't spell when I'm sloshed."

"The cable guy is supposed to come by later and set up the box for me, we could do that," she suggested.

"Movie night, no scary movies."

"Pussy."

"Yes, yes I am. Thanks for noticing."

"No comedies, romantic or otherwise."

"Pleeeeeease!"

"No, you can choose a drama or an action movie."

She allowed the blonde a moment of thought. It didn't take her long to choose. "Action, with shirtless men, loads of them."

"I need one with a good sex scene."

"What's that show you made me watch with the gladiators? I'd watch that."

"Okay, yeah. That one gladiator chest kicks someone in every single episode. And then in one episode him and the main guy wrestle each other naked in the bath house, slathered in olive oil."

"Liar. You are horrible."

"I'm being serious."

"I am_ not_ watching gay porn with you."

"It's not gay porn, there is no penetration. They just punch each other and roll around while naked with other naked greased up men yelling in the background."

"Do you see their…you know?"

Lucette opened her eyes and stood up reaching down to pull the other girl up, when they were eye to eye she raised her brows. "For a girl that has a boyfriend and gives bed baths to old men it's a little strange that you say 'you know,' instead of penis."

"Sorry," Molly blushed and walked to the door with her friend a few steps behind. On the stairs the brunette reminded herself to not be such a pain in the ass.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh at you. By the way I didn't bring any of that drink mix you like with me," she leaned on the banister as the other girl turned to face her.

"Why not?"

"Because I just took what_ I_ drink, I left the rest for Stella. She's staying at my apartment while I'm here."

"She's not twenty-one yet."

"It's not like she hasn't had a drink before."

"What if she overdoes it?"

Moving past she asked, "Who made you her big sister?"

"Sorry. But is she gonna be okay?"

Rolling her eyes at her friend's overprotective instincts for everyone but her own self she informed her, "She'll be fine, she doesn't get smashed or anything," pausing she added, "At least not that I know of."

"Well, that's good. Not like my sister."

Lucette barely held the nod she wanted to let loose, it would not do to get the other girl riled up any more, even though the other girl's sister drank like a elephant at a watering hole. "But anyway if you want a drink you have a limited selection," she said instead.

"How limited?"

Chuckling at what sounded like worry in the other girl's tone she raised her hands before bending to lift a box up onto her hip.

"Rum or whiskey."

There was a break in the discussion, a pause for the shock she mused to herself.

"Are you kidding me? Those are my options? You left _everything_ else with your sister?"

She climbed the stairs after finagling another box on top of the other one and steadying it with an upraised knee. "Those are all I drink, why would I bring stuff I won't even drink?"

"I can't drink it straight."

Careful to not let both boxes slam down she bent her knees and placed them onto the desk.

"Oh! I brought the red syrup stuff," she remembered.

When she looked back she found the other girl about ready to throw a hissy fit in the doorway at the limited alcohol selection. "What am I supposed to do with nonalcoholic drink mix syrup?"

"We could hire a gigolo and pour it on his body and lick it off. Or we can have Shirley Temples."

The blonde ignored her too wide grin. "Have you gone food shopping yet?"

"No."

"Good, put beer on the list."

"What no girly lemonade wine coolers, just beer? You really won't drink rum _or_ whiskey?"

"Not all of us can be men, Lucette."

"If I was a man I'd be ten times worse."

"You wouldn't be able to keep your hands out of your pants."

"…"

To keep herself from answering and getting herself in trouble she opened another box with her retrieved keys. "What no sassy joke?"

"None that would keep you from smacking me in the mouth after I say it," she mumbled down at the open box.

"Smart move. What were you going to say, I kinda want to know now."

"I can barely keep my hands out of my pants now."

"You should find a guy to shove his hands down your pants."

Lucette tossed a paperback science fiction novel about Armageddon at the doorway, it flew down the stairs at the blonde's quick sway to the right, the brunette couldn't help but crack up at the fact that the blonde in her quickness managed to slam her head into the doorframe. "Dumbass."

"Don't throw books at me!"

* * *

><p><strong>Day 17:<strong>

They had called her in for the monthly staff meeting, it wasn't mandatory but it felt nice to be able to get back to work. It was hard to sit at home with nothing to do besides walk the dog and watch television.

Mostly she came so she could catch a glimpse at the charts and meet the other nurses who she would supervise, she was already ready to get a feel for them and have them assigned patients by the end of the day.

She didn't have to be in uniform but she came in her best looking pressed blouse and trousers, keeping her hair up and her heels and make-up minimal.

In the mirror her work clothes made her lines mannish.

The nurse practitioner for the unit spoke in a soft voice and flicked through her file, a pen neatly tucked behind her ear. She was a nurse who was far enough along in her education that she could talk with doctors on the phone and sit at a desk for the whole day, the desk probably sitting in an office with her name on a plaque outside the door.

"So, right now we have about seven patients we need to have you handle, we were thinking since you're heading up four nurses that we'd do a split of two minimal care patients with only minor ADL deficits for each of three nurses and have the _most_ ADL deficient patient placed with the last one, this way you are free to supervise and handle the charts and the medication schedules."

The idea was tried and true, but she didn't like it. It meant she'd be sitting around all day, doing nothing but being used as a scapegoat when her team failed to do something and called the fact that she didn't directly oversee care in a hands-on way into play when they looked for someone to point the finger at.

Instead of frowning she put on her best shit-eating smile and sold her own idea like a used car salesman sold lemons; with flair.

"I see your point, but there may be some issue with…," she paused to make a show of looking through her papers as if she was looking for the name that she already knew by heart.

It put the older nurses at ease if she looked over eager rather than over prepared.

"…Mrs. Jenson. Since she's a larger patient, I would feel more comfortable if two of my nurses were assigned her care for safety reasons, and rotate them out every other day with the left-over patient,"

Lucette tapped her pencil's eraser on a spot on the patient list in front of her and paused to let the information soak in and so the rest of the conference room could take down her intentions.

"I would take Mr. Hale since he has, if I've read the reports right, been requested to have a one-to-one by the family. And then I would put the two most self-sufficient and skill strong nurses with two patients each, every day."

The table hummed in small snippets of conversations and general agreement.

"That seems more practical, there would be no running around for another nurse to help with the Hoyer lifts for Mrs. Jenson if she had two nurses," the facility unit's charge nurse stated conferring with the nurse practitioner.

"I would suggest you call the remaining two nurses and coordinate with them to come in and do a skill demonstration for you before you make your final choices on the assignments to patients," the charge nurse added with a wide eyed stare and a nod as if she was some large eyed farm animal bobbing its head.

Lucette's smile was large and overly vibrant, "Oh, of course. That's no problem, I've spoken to them already. I have them meeting me at the fundamentals lab building at the teaching hospital later tonight, due to scheduling conflicts that prevented them from being here with us."

The unit doctor smiled at her, "And the rest of your nurses?"

"I will have them do demonstrations today. I would like to, if it's possible to pick up the med pass for noon today," she glanced at the med nurse for the floor and received a permissive nod at the idea.

She went on, "Just to see how strong everyone's med skills are. If you can all stay, that is," she looked at the two agency LPNs that had made it to the meeting, they seemed ambivalent to the idea.

"If you can't then I would have you with me early on the twenty-fourth to do the morning med pass, so I can have the assignments for medications buckled down," she offered as an alternative to seemed like a democratic sort of team leader.

Facility nurse coordinators _loved_ the phrase 'democratic team leadership.'

The unit charge nurse questioned, "You plan on having medication assignments as well?"

"Well I had planned to have at least two nurses on the med pass at one time to prevent medication errors; I'd rotate it between myself and one of the two nurses on Mrs. Jenson."

"Well, we don't normally like to do that, for quality of care reasons," the woman replied with poison honey dripping off the words.

Instantly the young nurse knew the woman would be a splinter in her ass for the whole nine months she would be in Beacon Heights.

"Well I see no reason for it to be a bad thing; it certainly doesn't take two nurses to perform vital signs, or an assessment, or morning care. Though if you'd rather I'll have everyone do their own patients' med passes," the nurse practitioner and unit doctor laughed at the idea, they knew how some nurses seemed to be attached at the hip, they hated that sort of behavior and made no secret about it.

"You handle it the way you think best," the older woman finally gave in, a bit terse but otherwise with those still honey toned words.

"I will have everything faxed over to you by tomorrow morning at the latest, regarding the scheduling and assignments."

"That sounds perfect," the nurse practitioner said, declaring with the three simple words that the meeting was about to come to a close. "Now if you would like we could do the tour now or wait until lunch has started so the halls will be clearer."

Clear halls were a blessing. "I think we'll wait until lunch, I would like to conference with my team, if that's alright."

"Perfectly alright. Thank you for coming in for the meeting. And you two as well, thanks for being here," she said to the two agency LPNs who had made it to the meeting.

The room cleared out, she shook a few hands and smiled big and sat back down when she and the two licensed practical nurses were alone in the conference room.

"Okay, while we're here I'm going to take a quick survey of what types of skills you have and gloss over a few things that may concern you while we're here."

They all knew each other's names; the one female LPN was Shana and the male was Sawyer.

"I've been a home care for the majority of my nursing career but I do have experience in intensive care and telemetry. I expect superb and complete morning care, bathing, shaving, hair brushing, teeth, dentures, nail care, foot care, and dressing. Toileting is to be done at least twice during your shift, if the aide assigned to your patient is neglecting this come to me and I will address this issue."

They nodded and asked vague questions on exactly how much help they should give the aides. She told them they should not be doing the aides job for them and left the topic at that.

"Next, I have a pet peeve on feeding; I do not want to see any of you feeding patients in the dining room. Don't even go near it, the aides will try to throw it on you; if they saddle you with it I will find them and address the issue. Basically my concern is that feeding is a greater percentage of the things aides are allowed to do compared to nurses, and there is no reason for you to have to feed."

The two nurses gave visible sighs of relief, no doubt having been stuck doing feeding while in school for more than one clinical rotation. She remembered, she had hated it too.

"I _will _quiz you on medications, I expect you to know what you are giving and, yes, I will ask what the lab values were, write them down when you examine the chart. Know when not to give the drugs. I have all of the patient MARs so go home and look them up when I assign patients."

She answered a question on how much she thought they should know about the medications. She told them that they should know enough not to kill a patient.

"Who does not need me to show them how to work a Hoyer," Sawyer raised his hand.

"Okay. You will double with someone on Mrs. Jenson. Oxygen administration, suctioning, pharmacy call-ups, stoma care and wound care are my main focal points for skills."

Shana informed her that she used to be a pharmacy technician. "Good you know how to do a call-up? Perfect."

"I have one nurse who has her wound care certification. So with me and her we should be alright with teaching the rest of you guys."

"Suctioning?" Both of them raised their hands. "Fantastic."

She ran down her list of patient's with a brief summary for each, pausing so they could write it all down as she spoke.

"On to the patients: we have the Hoyer lift, Mrs. Jenson."

"Mr. Baegi with the trach and the ostomy. He's got a nasogastric tube, his feedings are continuous so please remember to shut them off while doing care on him or moving him in bed."

"Mrs. Whit who's a COPD patient, to be kept on a two liter maximum of oxygen, if a nurse from the shift before has it set to three change it, if they make a fuss I'll handle it."

"Mr. Hale who is a traumatic brain injury who I will be taking."

"Mrs. Doyle who is a diabetic, has a wound, no, I'm sorry _wounds_: bilateral heels and on her right big toe, and a history of atrial fibrillation and CHF."

"Mr. Garsine who's in for a hip fracture, venous stasis ulcer, and coronary artery disease, he has a pacemaker in and a stint was put in eight months ago, he speaks Italian exclusively but he understands English."

"And Mrs. Marsdale who's a mild dementia case and is a bilateral below the knee amputee from a MVA."

She let them catch up and went on, "Whoever I put on Mrs. Jenson will also have Mrs. Doyle. I will take Mr. Hale for the one-to-one. Then I want Mr. Garsine and Mr. Baegi with the same nurse. Mrs. Whit and Mrs. Marsdale will have the same nurse."

She pointed with her pencil to the fresh out of school nursing graduate, "I thinking that I will have you, Shana with Mrs. Whit and Mrs. Marsdale since you've done homecare and you're familiar with the treatments, and I'm assuming you have had experience with dementia patients before."

"Yes," the girl was hardly older than her sister Estelle. "Is this alright with you?"

"I think it's the best patient assignment for me," she replied softly, nervous but handling it well.

"Okay then. I'll get you the chart and let me get back to you, Sawyer. How comfortable are you with wounds?"

"Pretty comfortable, I would like to go over it with you though," the forty-something former orderly responded.

"No problem. Okay, excellent. I will say Sawyer you are the only guy on this team but Mrs. Jenson is comfortable with male nurses but you may be stuck doing med rounds while Mrs. Doyle gets here morning care, at least for the shower or bed bath."

"I can handle that," he answered with a thoughtful look before adding, "Whatever is most comfortable for her."

"Well I think we're set for now," she clapped and closed her file folder. "We've got some time before lunch starts so I suggest getting your charts and catching up on the meds and the labs and also any treatments the other nurses may have forgotten to mention."

They broke and she found herself making various notes of what she surveyed from her two team members. Her heels clicked musically on her way to the nurse's station, she found her two team members confused as to how to take charts from their cubbies.

"Don't be so nervous," she laughed and pulled the chart on her own patient calling out to the desk secretary that she had two-eighteen.

"It's that easy. Just pull the chart, make sure you know if your patient is in the bed by the door or the window and call out 'so and so door' or 'so and so window', numbers not names. Some patients get very upset if they know you're looking at their charts; hold the spine inward if you walk with it. Got it?"

They nodded.

She went down her assigned hall and at the pull-down slab set the chart down and leafed through it making notations in her notebook as she flicked through the pages.

Separating the pages by med list, current labs, treatments, procedures, admission assessment, and discharge planning she created a detailed spread of facts to look over when she hit the inevitable lull of 'nothing to do limbo' that came at least once every shift.

The thought to make sure her team knew how to write up a care plan made its way to her to do list, on the first page of her notebook.

Standing with the pull-down pressed to her abdomen and one hip to the wall she raised one foot up on its heel to contemplate the medication administration record she hadn't noticed the unit doctor come up on her until he was about to touch his chin to her shoulder in an incredible invasion of personal space.

It annoyed her but she feigned surprise despite the fact that she'd been able to smell the spearmint gum he'd been chewing for the past twenty seconds as he leaned in closer and closer.

"Oh! You surprised me, Doctor Shrineburg."

"I'm sorry, bad habit, sneaking up on people."

While not unattractive he was too old and too gone to fat despite being so tall. His suit cut was sharp, she had to give him that much, and his shoes were polished and equally expensive.

She could have rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically: 'Doctors.'

"Was there something you needed?" She kept her tone light but without the prim eagerness of other young nurses when around old rich doctors. Her expression remained neutral as he popped his gum.

"I just wanted to say that I glad to have a smart nurse working on my unit, for once," he had a hyena smile. Instantly she changed her opinion of the old doctor, she very much liked him.

He wasn't what she first thought, he wasn't a creepy old doctor that liked young nurses, but one of the sarcastic and overworked variety; he was a 'cool' doctor.

"Even if you are more dictatorship than democracy in your team approach."

She shrugged as if to say 'you caught me.'

"Top twenty of you graduating class? The mean, smart nursing student, that doesn't always know when to shut the hell up, I right?"

"Number six out of one forty-four and five out of three fifty-two. I used to be an LPN, by RN school I had learned the 'shut my mouth' lesson. How'd you know?"

"My daughter is the same way."

"She'll do well then."

"Of course she will; she gets it from me. Glad to be working with you," he strode away in his expensive suit and polished shoes as she smiled to herself at the interaction.

The brief distraction had thrown her off her thoughts; she snapped the pull-down back into place and closed the chart and her notebook. She knocked before going into the room.

"Hello," she greeted the nurse's aide in the room setting shirts into a closet.

"Hi. Did you need something?" She asked. It wasn't spoken nastily but curiously.

"I'm the charge nurse in charge of the agency LPNs," she answered by way of explanation.

Closing the closet door and putting a chair back in its rightful place she walked over, "Oh, nice to meet you. So you're an LPN too, right?"

"RN," Lucette corrected.

"You're really young," the aide was not entirely spring chicken herself.

"I went to tech school." she shrugged half-heartedly.

"You are taking over the seven in this hall right?"

"Yes we are."

"Well this is Mr. Hale," she wheeled over his chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's quiet. He's unresponsive for the most part but calm, cooperative and a good listener."

The smile on the woman's face was genuine and kind. The younger woman wished all nurse's aides were as cheerful.

"Good to know."

Wheeling him back to the window the aide asked, "So whose patient is he?"

"Mine."

"Yours?"

"Mhmm."

There was a brief pause where the aide just stared at her, it wasn't overly scrutinizing but it was a probe for something, some trait or emotional tick.

"Well that's a nice change; I knew it would happen eventually."

"What would?"

"That these nurses, the ones here, would cave and finally give into the one-to-one request."

"Have they been…oh I don't know how to put this, against it? I guess against is close enough to the word I was looking for." Lucette tried her best thoughtful and coy way of speaking. It worked well enough.

"Well they haven't been _receptive_. They think he doesn't need it since he's a calm patient, but it must be very lonely."

"I'm glad to do it. It's nice to be a one-to-one nurse," it wasn't a lie.

"Just don't take anything his nephew says personally, he gets himself so fired up sometimes."

"His nephew?" the young nurse questioned.

"Yeah, young kid. To me at least. His niece came in a few times too, but I haven't seen her in awhile, I guess the niece and nephew are brother and sister. Anyway the nephew," she regained the thought as she was about to spiral away from it.

"He's kind of intense, comes off rude but I think he's just stressed. Who isn't right?"

"Thanks for the tip."

"I didn't mean to worry you; he's not like some of the family members that come in that yell at every single person for every little thing."

"So, silent but deadly?"

The aide tittered at the joke and nodded enthusiastically.

"And usually there are a few other aides that have the habit of walking in and trying to find something to do if his nephew visits, you know because he's young and attractive in one of _those_ sort of ways."

She had no idea what '_those_ sort of ways' were but she pretended like she did, "Ahhh, penal gallery."

"Exactly. I'm, Nancy. By the way." She offered out her hand.

"Lucette." The younger woman took it.

"Well nice to meet you Lucette, good luck!"

"Good to meet you too. Thanks."

"Anytime, chick," Nancy said as she turned out of the doorframe with a small wave.

The room with quiet and lit minimally, it didn't bother her, it was probably better for her patient's eyes. She pulled up the chair Nancy had placed back in its original spot and settled in next to her patient.

She didn't seek out his eyes just sat and turned her head to face the good side of his, "Hello Mr. Hale. My name's Lucette, I'm going to be your nurse for the next few months. Would you mind if I sat with you for awhile?"

Knowing he couldn't answer but asking anyway, the way she'd been taught to, she settled into her chair and watched clouds gather on the skyline. She hummed to herself as she watched the sky. Mr. Hale made no response to the off key rendition.

She read over her notes and stayed for the rest of the shift, speaking again only to give the go-ahead to the two LPNs when they came to ask if they could go on a tour of the facility, she waved them off with the blessing to head on without her and leave if they had to afterwards.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I try to make it a point to never mention anything that the characters in my stories are watching or reading explain any references they make to certain things, pop culture wise, because when I read other people doing it the mention either annoys me or distracts me, but for anyone who didn't get any of the jokes between characters they aren't hard to place but in order of how they pop up this is what they are, Lucy and Ethel are from 'I Love Lucy', the alien zombies in space is 'Dead Space', the card game played is a version of rummy, momma dependent bubbas are from 'The Southern Rules', Robin Goodfellow is the little boy in Winnie the Pooh, "Jesus Christ, Kathleen" is from a Kathy Griffin joke, the show about gladiators is 'Spartacus', and for people that have never been in tech school, it's where you go in place of highschool or in addition to in order to learn a trade. In some places they are called magnet schools.


	2. The Ploy

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **For reference chapter one happened prior to episode four, and this one takes place on a floating timeline between episodes five through eight.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 21:<strong>

"Guess who the biggest dumbass in the world is right now," she spoke into the receiver.

"Who?" Came from the other line.

"Me," she stated picking up a towel from her bathroom floor and throwing it into a garbage bag along with the clothes she'd taken off before her shower when she'd first gotten up that morning.

"What did you do? The last time you admitted to being the world's biggest dumbass was when you showed up two days early for your boards" Lucette smiled to herself at the question and the memory as she left the bag on the tiled floor to go into her bedroom and collect clothes from her hamper.

"I'm never going to live that down." Her friend hummed her assent as Lucette shook off the old thought and continued with why she was currently a dumbass, "Well you know how when you kind of need a washer and dryer to do laundry?" She asked giving her dog a pat as she passed him on her way back to the bathroom.

"Oh my god, the house doesn't have a laundry room!" The response from the other end of the line a bit too cheerful for her liking, "Well…, it does but…," she started

"It's empty," Molly offered trying to help her finish the point on why she was such a big idiot.

"No, it has the washer."

"But no dryer."

"No dryer," Lucette confirmed sitting on the closed toilet lid and sighing before going on, "and the washing machine is disconnected from the water pipe."

"Call a plumber," was the suggestion she received.

It wasn't as if she hadn't thought of calling a plumber already. "Yeah but I have no dryer."

"You have a clothes line."

"Yeah but I can't hang my uniform on the line."

Her friend understood why she couldn't, there was no point in washing a white uniform just to let it dry outside and on the off chance have a bird or rain ruin it.

She got up and dragged the garbage bag of dirty clothes into the living room and hefted it onto the couch, she went to start searching for a basket and her laundry detergent.

"Is there a place in town to do laundry?"

"Yeah but now I have to go there and do laundry every night," she answered switching the phone to her other hand so she could pull detergent out from under the kitchen sink.

"Buy a second uniform so you only have to go every other day," the other line told her.

"I am an _idiot_," she sighed flopping into a kitchen chair and taking an experimental sip of the coffee in the mug she had left on the table, she gulped it down fast because while warm it wasn't hot enough to enjoy for a long time.

"You should have checked if they had a washer and dryer in the house."

"I know. I know."

She got up from the chair and made another pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night, one she had hoped to spend taking a nap and going over chart notes but unfortunately left her doing laundry in the place of sleeping.

"Anything besides going on?"

"On the news they were saying how the mountain lion killed someone."

The news channel was still talking about it, with all the excitement and breaking news pop out decals on the screen making her mood a mark more irritated than usual.

"Damn, I was hoping it would get you."

Lucette smiled at the notion. "That's not very nice, you know."

"Whatever," her friend laughed.

"Yeah, whatever," she taunted back.

"How's work?"

"Good, I just got home actually." She was still wearing her uniform and the topic of work reminded her of the fact.

"How's the team approach working for you?"

"It sucks balls, big hairy sweaty_ balls_. There's one girl younger than us, about Stella's age and then there's one older guy and two older women who both have kids and it's such a hassle to keep the facility nurses from acting like a bunch of children."

She unzipped the back of her uniform dress and kicked it out of the kitchen with a stockinged foot. Keeping the phone pressed tight to her ear she wiggled out of the stockings and stepped on the legs to pull her feet out of them.

"They're jealous they don't get to choose the way they do things, like you guys do," Molly soothed in her ear like a good best friend.

"And the charge nurse is an absolute witch, just gaw-awd, she is awful."

"She's angry that you get to be charge nurse of your team. How are the doctors?"

"We only have one that I see all the time, cardiac doc, and then the gastro guy came in once. But for the most part it's Mr. Heart Doctor, he's cool. He kind of reminds me of a teacher I had in highschool that let me skip all the assignments except essays because he knew I knew what I was talking about."

"Is he cute?"

Lucette laughed at the idea of anyone finding the doctor's face more attractive than his bank account. "No, but he's funny." She took a sniff at her skin and found that despite it smelling like clean skin and body spray that the scent of nursing home clung to her so close that after she moved her head it wafted right back into her nose.

It was an aura of odors pertaining exclusively to the sickly old and debilitated. She wanted a shower desperately.

"Well that's something. How's the patients?"

"Same old: diabetes, stents, lung problems, and heart failure. I got a stroke patient."

"Just the one?"

"Yeah, the charge nurse didn't want me to have _any_, just wanted me to stroll around and keep an eye on my nurses."

"For eight hours?"

"That's what I fucking said! I mean honestly if I wanted to do nothing then I'd stay home instead of go to work. You go to work to work; anything else is kind of dumb."

"My charge nurse has me doing all the meds."

"That's a nice gig," she poured herself a new cup of coffee and leaned against the counter in her underwear and bare feet. She admired her toes and the patterned tiles.

"It's so boring. The whole shift, and then the aides aren't allowed to do the finger sticks so I have to do them too."

"Why aren't the aides allowed to do them?"

"Because last month one of them didn't come to tell the nurse that someone had a reading of thirty-eight, and so Charlotte, you know her right? The really short one, who we did the recertification for basic life support with."

"Yeah I know her," she took a sip and jumped up to sit on the counter, her bun got stuck on a cabinet fixture and she fumbled until she'd gotten it loose and ruined her work hair-do.

"Well she had to run in and push glucagon and of course no one could find the patient's assigned nurse because she was on break and she hadn't even done her assessments yet so she didn't tell anyone the IV line was infiltrated and we had to call a code and start a whole new IV and it was absolute chaos," Molly was out of breath by the time she finished the story.

"You're shitting me!" She yelled into the phone instantly sorry that her friend had had to go through the hectic ordeal.

"No joke. So now all of the med nurses have to do the finger sticks and we have to have a phlebotomist on every unit assessing IV sites twice a shift."

"Yeesh."

"Drama drama yo mama."

"You are so cool." Her tone was dry as she swallowed another gulp of coffee.

"I try."

"Listen I gotta go do this laundry, but I'll give you a call in the next few days, one day. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Keep me posted , girly."

"You got it, talk to you soon."

"Bye, hun."

She pressed a button on the cordless phone and placed it next to her on the counter as Brigadier clicked his way to a spot next to the kitchen table.

She looked down at her dog and let her smile fade into a look of bored dejection, "Wanna come do laundry with me?"

Brigadier trotted around the kitchen and barked happily, waggling his butt at the refrigerator and opening and closing his mouth at her making faces at him from on top of the counter.

"You're such a ham." She pushed at his jowls with her toes and laughed when he licked them and tried to gnaw on her foot. She pushed him away with the heel of her other, uncaptured, foot.

"If you start barking you're staying in the car. You hear me?"

Sliding off the counter she knelt and pulled his face close to hers, he licked at her eye and she had to blink away the slobber.

"But you won't bark and get momma in trouble will you? No, because you are such a well behaved and wonderful boy." Lucette tumbled back onto the cool floor and her dog lay on his belly next to her, they stared at each other as if amused with themselves and bored with what everyone was doing.

The phone rang on the counter and interrupted her meditative thoughts on the crown molding around the ceiling and how dirty the floor under her stove was.

She reached up and knocked the phone onto herself with her foot and some odd leg positioning. "Hello?"

"It's dad."

"Hey, dad."

"How's the job?"

She turned her head and rolled her eyes at her kitchen companion. "Good, I was just talking to Molly about it a second ago."

"How is Molly? She still dating that guy?"

"Yeah she is, though they've been fighting lately."

"Tell her if she wants to get laid to come find me."

Her dog mewled at her rolling her eyes so many times and gave a half-hearted yip. "You get rid of the booty call you have now?"

"No, why would I do that. I'm monopolizing over here."

"Uh-huh."

"You've got to have options when you're as tan and beautiful as me, kid."

"You're going to get skin cancer."

"Bah!"

"So what's up?"

"Nothing, listen. I was thinking about selling the house."

"…," She refrained from answering, knowing it would come out snippy.

"You there?"

"I'm listening."

"Not right now but once your sister gets her own place, maybe in the next year or so. What do you think?"

"I think you should talk to Estelle and find out when exactly she's going to be moving out."

"Yeah, but it's just a thought. Thought I should let you know."

"Where you thinking of moving to?"

"Florida."

"Could you get any more old?" She started to do leg raises for lack of interest in the conversation.

"I'm old already."

"I thought you were young and beautiful still," Lucette teased letting her leg drop heavily from its raised position in the air.

"In body. Not in mind."

"Well okay, do you want me to talk to my guy that does houses and see if he knows someone in Florida?"

"Yeah, tell him to give me a call."

"I will, listen I gotta go do laundry but give me a call when you can."

"I will."

"Bye."

"Bye bye."

She hung up and let the phone drop to the floor between her and the dog, who within a moment dragged it with a paw to his mouth leaving her to have to wrestle it away before claiming victory and leaving the room to get dressed.

Before the news at eleven came on she was out the door and in her truck crowded with dirty laundry in the passenger seat and the dog in bed of the truck. She hoped she didn't get a ticket for it, she wasn't sure what the policy on dogs in the back of pickup trucks was but she guessed they'd be less strict than if she was toting children around instead.

The laundromat was glaringly bright in the small strip mall, the only place open in the middle of the night besides the fast food drive-thru across the street.

She searched through her console for the old metal tin that used to hold mints but now served the purpose of holding loose change.

When she found it she put it into her jacket pocket. There were only two other cars in the lot and from her view of the inside of the laundry mat a solitary guy doing a load of darks and a couple laughing over something and folding a sheet between them.

She yanked the bag over the center console and dropped it onto the asphalt as she got out.

"Alright big boy show me what you got," she teased the dog. "_Arch_. Brigadier."

He jumped from the truck bed in a bulky motion that almost sent him into the neighboring car. She hissed at the close call and attached his leash with a smooth click of the metal latch.

When she slammed the driver's side door and moved to the back to reach the laundry basket and supplies she found that the guy who was alone was watching her from inside the laundromat.

She kept her expression neutral because he was anything but in dark jeans and a leather jacket and she hated having someone know that she found them attractive. She hefted the basket out of the back and carried the garbage bag in her leash hand but not before giving her dog a look that had he been her best friend Molly or her sister would have taken to mean: 'take a look at _that_, what a piece.'

Inside she choose a machine a row over and facing the other way, glad she had chosen her best looking pair of jeans to do laundry in.

Her dog circled nervously and whined.

"You are such a ham, scared of the washing machine huh?" She put her bag down and her basket on top of the machine next to the one she planned to use.

Squatting she gave him some attention. "_Buckle_. _Bind._"

He lay down at her feet and she smiled, pulling a treat out of her jacket pocket as she removed her change tin and placed it next to her while she offered the treat.

Opening the machine and then the garbage bag she started with a load of heavy denim and terry cloth and then put another load of lighter things, including not much else besides a few shirts, underwear, and her uniform into a second machine.

The female half of the couple doing laundry further down cooed over her dog and came over to pet him while her boyfriend folded her panties with a small smirk on his face in response to the lace and frills of ladies undergarments.

"What's his name?"

"Brigadier."

"He's so big."

"Yeah, he's a monster alright."

"Can I pet him?"

"Yeah sure, he likes treats. Here," She handed the girl a treat to give her dog as she leaned against the bulking metal machine behind her.

"What type of dog is he?"

"Bull Mastiff mix."

"Wow. He's so friendly. Was he hard to train?"

"Well, if you do it young enough and keep it up then not really. Dogs want to listen it's just that even the best dog can get confused about what you want them to do."

"Babe, you gonna play with the dog all night or help me out with these sheets?" The girl's boyfriend called out from down the row.

"Dumb question," Lucette laughed and the girl did too.

"Thanks for letting me pet him."

"No, problem he loves the attention. Don't you, mush head?"

The girl smiled and went back down to her boyfriend who told her she smelt like dog as he grabbed at her and rocked her giving her a peck and then a much slower version that made Lucette turn her attention away.

Her attention immediately found a new home as the 'nice piece' a row over bent to reach in and pull wet laundry from a machine, his jeans tight across what appeared to be a firm backside. She wondered to herself if there was any better combination than denim and a firm ass.

At her feet she heard a rumble that caught only a fraction of her attention, Mr. Great Ass turned and looked right at her while she was half-distracted and half-still ogling him. She turned her head all the way down and gave the dog a command that equated to silence.

When it didn't stop the rumbling she rolled her eyes and gave the best impression of a growl she could and pulled on the leash.

"_Bounce, Trot._" She led him from the laundromat and tied him in the back of the truck bed for not listening to her command to quiet down.

"Honestly, moving really does make you forget all your lessons, doesn't it? You get so willful just because you think we're on vacation. Well, we are not on vacation Mister and I don't appreciate you misbehaving."

She smiled at herself and her tone. Reaching into the pocket of her jacket she retrieved her pack of cigarettes and found that she had forgotten to put her lighter into the half empty box like she usually did.

"Well, shit." The truck's lighter didn't work.

"Can I have one of those?"

She turned and found Mr. Great Ass pointing at her cigarette. She smiled and nodded with, "Only if you've got a lighter."

He clicked a button on his car remote and unlocked his door. The car wasn't bad either, though she preferred the look of the older models of the same name to the new ones they were putting out. He came out with one from his car it's coils glowing luminescent orange, she walked over and exchanged it for her pack.

After taking one he returned the small box to her and lit up with the car lighter she handed back, placing it back into his car and locking the door a moment later.

Brigadier growled from the back of her truck.

"_Bolo_. Brigs!" She turned and he hid his snout under his paws and whined from the back, she wondered if he was jealous. When she turned again and gave him a glare he hushed instantly and she tossed a treat into the back with him.

"I don't think he likes me."

Lucette turned her attention back to the guy with the face as equally good looking as his car and backside. She was relieved that he wasn't a highschool kid, it made her feel better that she was letting her eyes roam over someone who was closer to her own age rather than underage.

"He gets jealous, I guess."

"He's on edge, that's good. For dogs."

She grinned and took a drag. They smoked in silence leaning on their respective cars.

"Thanks," he told her after only smoking half and crushing it under his sneaker.

"No problem." She blew out a cloud to her side as he walked back inside and watched his laundry spin through the glass door of the dryer.

Within the hour both he and the couple left and she passed the time by watching the news on the preset television in the large room of the laundromat and swaying to the muted radio station playing over the speakers in the ceiling as she folded laundry.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 29:<strong>

It really was the strangest thing. So strange that she went to the unit charge nurse to ask about it, thankfully it wasn't the same one that had been in the staff meeting.

"Hey, Trish. You busy right now?" She leaned her folded arms and chest across the high partition of the nurse's station.

"No, what's up," the older woman asked never taking her hands from her keyboard and shifting her eyes up to glance at the young nurse peering down at her.

Straightening and tapping her nails on the cover of the chart she had brought with she told her, "I was looking at Mr. Hale's chart and I was wondering what the bookmarks were for."

A look of irritation crossed the older woman's features and her fingers stilled as she rolled back from the computer to rub a hand over her face to ease the lines from it.

"I told the night nurse to fix that, damn girl just doesn't listen. She's the LPN. Jennifer. The redhead."

Lucette hadn't met her.

"Sometimes I think she does these things just to be spiteful, I have half a mind to write her up for this." Again the older woman's face creased in her aggravation

"Do you want me to take them out for you?" Lucette asked for the purpose of seeming helpful. It paid to be nice to the other nurses.

"Yes, thanks. They shouldn't even be in there except when JCAHO came they wanted to see our records on the past five years incident reports and I had to go through all the charts and mark when they happened. I thought everyone understood to take the damn things out."

At the admission she looked at the chart with her eyes a little wider than they had been. "He has this many? Really?"

"Yeah, listen come here," the older woman waved her around the desk and grabbed another rolling chair so Lucette could sit down next to her. "I'll tell you what happened but don't mention it, okay?" It was said in a conspiratory whisper that made the younger nurse's ears perk up at the prospect of knowing something she shouldn't be allowed to know.

"Yeah, of course. What happened?"

She sat down and rolled the chair closer holding the chart tightly against her knees.

"I'm only telling you because you're the one taking care of him and the other charge nurses probably wouldn't even bother to let you know."

"He's not a fall risk is he?" She'd be severely disappointed if that was what the incident reports were about.

"No, no. He's bedbound like it says in the chart but every once in awhile he sundown's real bad and all of those bookmarks are for when he's lashed out at the nurses."

"Violently?" Her hands clenched on the charts spine.

"No, not violent just he lunges and a few times he's grabbed at them. He hasn't actually grabbed anyone for real but every single time it's happened the nurse trips and falls and sprains something, one time there was one girl who split open her forehead on the dresser. He hasn't actually done any damage himself but you know it's a bit of a surprise when it happens."

Lucette made the connection between his odd medication regimen in an instant. "I was wondering about the sedative he's on."

The older nurse nodded at her. "Yeah, though…, his levels are all over the place on it, never too high but too low and it's like it just doesn't work with his system."

"It happens. Have you told the doctor?" She shrugged as she offered the insight.

"Mr. Neuro? Oh yeah, I've told him but he's too high and mighty for us nurses most days, thinks we're too stupid to know what the drugs we give do."

"I hate that," she schooled her features to look sympathetic; she didn't have to try very hard because she wasn't lying about her dislike of hoity toity doctors.

"Me too."

A nurse passed the station rolling away an electronic blood pressure cuff to put it back in the supply room; they hushed their conversation to avoid being overheard.

"Thanks, for letting me know."

"I should have mentioned it the other day when I was on but I forgot because I had the pharmacy stuff to send out, but yeah, Deb wouldn't have even bothered to mention it."

The older nurse spoke of the other charge nurse.

"I don't think she likes me very much, to tell you the truth," Lucette admitted watching the aides down the hall enter and exit rooms.

With a shift of her head and a thoughtful look the other nurse explained, "I just think she's a little concerned, because you're young. Not that that's an excuse to be mean or anything but you know how it is with some nurses, they just think that experience is better than education."

"And what do you think?"

With a scoff and a smile the other nurse rolled back towards the computer and gave her a mock serious side glance.

"I think that anyone who can run a group of four other nurses and do it well plus knowing that a nurse's job is still to take care of patients and then actually backs it up by taking a patient of her own when she doesn't have to, has plenty of experience. The fact that you still take school seriously is just the whipped topping. That's what I think."

A wave of pride came over her and she felt herself blush in happy embarrassment, she felt her cheeks bunch up into big balls and her smile widen so much that if anyone looked at her they might have laughed to see her so happy at so early in the morning.

With a friendly shove Trish sent her chair rolling across the floor and pinned her with a narrowed look of lazy contentment, "You, Miss Bramble are too cute, jeez. Look at those apple cheeks."

Lucette covered her mouth and tired to quiet her laughs and put a professional mask back on over her face, "Quit it, I'm going to wet myself."

The older woman's grin was part amused and part wicked when she asked, "Would you like me to go get you a brief to wear? What size are you, a small?"

"I'm serious. You're too much," she informed the other woman.

"You're too young to not laugh hard enough to wet yourself at least once a day."

"I'm going to have to start doing extra Kegels if I have to laugh this hard every day."

They both laughed and smiled at the joke.

An aide came to the desk to inform the older nurse that they were out of medium sized gloves in the supply room.

Both of them looked in Lucette's direction.

"Alright, I'll go check the other units and see if they have an extra few boxes."

"Thanks, Lucette," the aide told her as she scurried off to finish with her patient's morning care.

She vacated the chair she was sitting in with a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes at the small grin taking up residency on the charge nurse's face. She told her to watch the chart for her as she went off on the search across the units for the right size of gloves.

The facility connected to the rear of the much smaller hospital of the two in the town. It wasn't as large as the teaching hospital but it was equally well-run, the only difference between the two was that this hospital didn't have the same amount of specialty services such a neonatal intensive care, burn center, or a separate oncology wing differentiated from the rigors of everyday medical-surgical services.

One of the nurses pointed her in the direction of the central supply office. On any other occasion she'd have no purpose in the actual hospital beyond the routine physical she always had to get when working for a new place.

At the office she filled out a request and was told they were going to send down a shipment by the next shift anyway, but they practically threw an armful of non-latex gloves at her just to keep her from complaining like, no doubt, they heard too much of it all day.

If it seemed odd for her to be carrying what to her seemed to be an obscene amount of gloves no one mentioned it as she passed them.

She desperately wanted to steal a cart for them but she refrained from doing it, mostly because she hated it when carts went missing on units she was working on.

It was just bad manners as a nurse to steal another nurse's supply cart or linen cart without asking first. They were territorial creatures, no doubt about it.

At the end of the access hall that let out into the unit branching off of hers she tried to finagle opening the door by hitting the switch with everything from shoulder to elbow to knee without having to put her armful of glove boxes down to do it.

The door swung out at her as she missed the button, on the other side of the door someone stood with their palm pressed against the button.

"Thanks," she told them breathlessly and trudged past, too concerned with the balancing act in her arms than coming up with a better expression of gratitude.

"No problem," her door opening gentleman responded from somewhere behind her as she started down the hall, hopping awkwardly backwards to avoid being run over by a patient being wheeled to a procedure by two orderlies and a different unit nurse from their own small little radiology department.

Boxes tumbled into their path; she kicked them out of the way back behind her towards the access door and narrowly avoided having her foot run over by the other end of the bed and accompanying IV pole.

"Shi…-ite." She corrected her half-finished curse as she looked over her shoulder to see where the boxes had ended up after she kicked at them.

Suddenly she found them being added to the top of the ones in her arms. She had no choice but to stare dumbly up and around the boxes to see who was helping her.

Her gentleman door opener had seemed to have come to her rescue again. She was surprised by his face.

Of course she had mused on the idea of seeing him again the next time she did laundry, more a daydream type notion but she never expected to see him at her job.

Mr. Nice Ass wore the same leather jacket as he had a few days past and smelled of fresh nicotine.

"Oh wow, hi. Thanks again."

He looked at her oddly as she uttered the greeting.

"You were doing laundry Monday night, so was I with edgy monster dog."

He did little more than nod at her, like he had no idea what she was talking about. After a moment of heavy silence he responded with, "You look different, the hair and you're a lot shorter."

She thought back and instantly knew why he hadn't recognized her at first, her hair had been down at the laundromat because she had broken her last hair elastic in the car on the way and it was much longer than it looked when in her tight nurse's bun which was practically glued to her scalp with hairspray and a helpful little hair device her sister had bought her.

And the pile of boxes probably did make her look a lot shorter plus she had on her nurse shoes which were a far cry from her boots which gave her an extra inch or two.

"Yeah, I guess I do," she agreed.

They stood for another moment until she asked if he was lost or was looking for someone.

"I'm just visiting. I know the way."

She nodded and started walking again after saying thank you again and giving him a 'take it easy,' from over her shoulder as she tried to avoid getting run over again in the hallway.

As she returned she propped a knee into the partition of the nurse's station and hefted the boxes onto it with a peek of her head around the boxes to smile down at Trish the charge nurse.

"Jeez, why'd you get so many?"

"They basically threw them at me on my way out the door," she sighed leaning on her elbows, crossing her ankles behind her as she leaned forward.

"You should have stolen a cart."

"Thought about it," Lucette admitted.

"Or at least found a cute orderly to carry them for you," the older woman said amongst searching through some paperwork.

"Well I had some help," she admitted thinking of Mr. Nice Ass

"Do tell. There is a serious man shortage on this unit ever since Steve got engaged, not that he was much to look at but he has these tree limb arms and they were at least something to look at."

She couldn't say she'd seen Steve the Tree Limbed man.

"A visitor opened the door for me since I didn't have hands and then when I almost lost my foot because they were rolling someone to x-ray he picked up the boxes I dropped."

"Chivalry isn't dead," looking up from her keyboard the older nurse cut off what she was about to say to instead stare behind Lucette and widen her eyes. "_Hello_."

"Uh, hello to you too," Lucette responded warily, not getting the joke.

"No, I mean _**hello**_." She pointed and the younger nurse turned and leaned back against the nurse's station. In a moment of confusion she stated, "That's him."

"Him who."

"The guy who helped me with the boxes."

"Lucky girl. That's the nephew."

"The nephew as in my nephew, my patient's nephew, I mean."

"That's him."

"That's so weird."

"And he totally checked out your butt, but then again it was pretty much just sticking out in the middle of the hall a second ago."

Tilting her head back on her shoulder she sent the older woman a glare.

"Wanna take bets on how long before an aide _remembers_ she forgot to do something in that room?" Trish offered with school girl glee.

"Hell yes. Five bucks on three minutes," she took the bet willingly.

"One minute," Trish stated her eyes gleaming predatorily.

"Yeah, right," Lucette snorted.

With a smile the other woman returned to her typing and called out, "Hey, Sam."

An aide that was passing stopped and came over and asked what was up. "Yeah, listen could you do me a favor the doc called and said he left his steth in two-eighteen," Trish asked.

"Cheater," Lucette hissed quietly behind her to the older woman quickly coming up with a way of evening the odds.

"Oh wait, but can you put one of these in each room, we're all out of mediums, everywhere." Stuck between the two chores the aide took a stack of gloves and set off down the hall in the opposite direction to stock the rooms.

"Now who's the cheater?"

"I just evened the odds," she smiled. "What's the count?" She took a glance at the clock but found it hard to find out how much time the interlude had lasted.

"Two-minutes."

Lucette grinned and thanked her foresight to cut a check for fifty dollars to her agency to keep her certifications up to date and still in the green.

"I hate to have to tell you this but I keep all my certifications and licenses up to date. I'm licensed as a nurse _and_ certified as an NA for the next year, at least."

"That's cheating!" The other nurse called as Lucette walked away down the hall.

"Hey you came up with the rules," she teased as she walked.

"I want proof before I pay out."

"That's what she said." A passing aide whispered as she walked by, Lucette and the med nurse snickered having both heard the joke.

Before she passed the med nurse completely she made sure to let her know that if Sam the nurse's aide came by to tell her that they had found the steth already and she didn't have to go into the room because it was already stocked with gloves.

She knocked on the doorframe as she came to the door calling out "Mr. Hale," The younger man didn't even turn his head until he realized that maybe she hadn't seen him and was talking to his uncle.

"I meant you, actually." Lucette pointed at him as he sat back down and she entered the room closing the door halfway behind her

"What is it?" He didn't sound very pleased as he perched on the empty bed behind his uncle who sat in his wheelchair gazing listlessly or perhaps unseeing out the window.

"I'm your uncle's nurse, you _are_ his nephew right?"

She took a few steps towards the bed but made sure to keep a respectful distance.

"I am. I thought Jennifer was his nurse," he looked vaguely in her direction when he asked, more at the floor than at her.

"She's the night nurse. I'm his new day nurse. The facility hired me to help out with their extra patients. I'm his one-to-one on the days I work."

"About time they hired someone," he turned his head away from the floor, or her feet, she couldn't tell from the direction of his gaze and stared at his uncle's back.

"I'm Lucette."

"Derek Hale."

His introduction was accompanied by a nod and a stare directly at her, this time.

"Thanks for the help before," he didn't answer. She felt suddenly the tiniest of bits offended but let it slide away; she was used to families being distant and unaccommodating sometimes.

"I just wanted to introduce myself," she turned to leave the room with a small nod, his voice and the movement of his head in her direction as she turned her own made her stop and turn around completely away from the door.

"Did you do his care since you're his nurse?"

"Yes. I do."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she shrugged playing with the handle of the door behind her.

"On your way out can you tell the aides that it's annoying when they come in every five minutes without knocking and bumble around?"

"I'll keep them busy while you visit your uncle," she nodded with a smile even though there was no niceness in his tone or the request.

"Thanks," he responded as she turned.

"Sure."

She was halfway out the door and able to look back down the hallway when he called out as if she had forgotten something.

"Hey."

She leaned back through the doorframe and swiveled her head to look at him. "Yes?"

"Are you going to do his care soon?" He seemed genuinely interested and his tone was much nicer, his posture less on edge than when she first entered the room.

"It can wait until you're finished if you'd like."

"Could I stay?"

He stretched out a leg and propped the other on the bottom of the bed frame, he turned himself towards her the slightest of bits and she found herself staring at his stretched out leg, struck with the impression of masculine grace. She laughed at the thought mentally as soon as it came to mind.

Mr. Nice Ass, Derek Hale, was anything but the type of guy to be described by florid terminology.

"And…help?" She said when she realized she hadn't answered, choking a little from speaking so fast.

"Is that allowed?"

He looked amused by something.

"Of course, did you want to learn how to do it?"

"I think I should know how to do it."

She agreed, families usually didn't but when they did do care it seemed to help them deal with a loved one's illness or degenerate condition.

"Okay. How long are you staying?"

"Awhile."

She nodded and realized she was still leaning back into the room and not standing in a normal position, it was killing her neck, and she'd have to shift if the conversation didn't end soon.

"I'll go get everything, then, and give you some time to sit with him. I'll be back in a half an hour?"

"Fine," he answered simply.

When she returned to the nurse's station Trish was watching her approach like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"You know, you strut when you're in a really good mood."

"Keep the aides out of there will you. It annoys him; I think he's realized they're doing it on purpose. I have to go get supplies for morning care."

"You're going to do it now?"

"Soon."

"With him in the room?"

"He asked if he could help."

"What a man. God bless him, a gentleman to a lady dropping boxes and unable to open doors and a family man, I'd say he's gay if he hadn't stared at your ass as he walked by."

"You, my dear are such a liar," Lucette informed her as she pushed away from the nurse's station and went to their supply room to gather supplies.

"You still strut!" Trish called after her.

She wiggled her hips for flair and a good laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 31:<strong>

She'd been out walking her dog when she heard the blare of police sirens; belatedly she discovered what all the fanfare was about as she turned on her television later that night after watching a movie about alien hatchlings aboard a space shuttle and the ensuing fight for survival of the crew.

It had been a long movie and she was about to fall asleep on the couch with her dog cushioning her feet when the live coverage caught her attention while channel surfing.

The scene was just clearing out but the reporters were left on the scene with a handful of police left to cover the scene against unauthorized entrance.

She caught the words, terrorized teenagers, murder suspect Derek Hale, and of course the 'be on the look out' alert to the entire community.

It was comical; she looked at the dog at her feet.

"What do you think, Brigs."

His ears perked and an eye waved towards her but otherwise she received no reply.

"Do you think he did it?"

No answer.

"I think that it's possible and that I should refrain from thinking about doing laundry with him. Just in case, right?"

Still no answer.

She prodded at her dog's belly with a socked foot.

"I'm off the next two days, Brigs. I wish I could bring you to the gym with me and left you run the treadmill but I don't think it's allowed so you'll have to stay home and protect the house and my hoarded nest of treasures."

She did the best impression of a dragon she could swing in her sleepy state but it came out garbled and wonky, more dying deer than ferocious mythical beast.

Falling asleep she tired to remember if she had set her alarm to wake her up in order to do some work later on. It didn't matter enough for her to worry; she mentally waved it off and napped until dawn.

When she woke up she found her feet had fallen asleep and she had to leaned over the coffee table in order to reach the cordless phone in order to start her day off with a task completion.

She dialed and waited for a voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"It's Lucette."

"Do you know what time it is, bitch? Six in the fucking morning, I'm hanging up now."

"Patient abuse!" She shouted into the phone to keep from getting hung up on.

"Are you being serious or are you being more 'Tanya the Twat' than usual?"

"Serious, I swear."

"Okay then, I'm awake then, nothing like the smell of patient advocacy to give a guy morning wood."

"Mike, what am I going to do with you?"

"Take me to a strip club for my birthday."

"There's none around, _trust_ me I've looked."

"Of course _you_ have."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That men in glittered thongs turn you on too since you are also very much a gay man."

"Is that a joke about my boobs? Because if it is it certainly isn't your best, dude."

"It was a joke about your massive swinging dick, girlfriend."

"You finished?"

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"You know how much I hate writing a patient abuse report unless I'm more than half sure."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I need some incident reports to push me to either eighty percent surety or convince me that I'm just overly cautious."

"Okay. Why do you need me?"

"Because I need an agency rep to call and ask for them. I'm not supposed to know that there even are incident reports."

"Okay, all of them or just the ones that raise a flag."

"They're all flags."

"I hear ya, but I need some details. I can't just pull incident reports out of my ass."

"I wouldn't be surprised considering some things you actually have pulled out of your ass."

"Shut. Up."

"Heh, yeah. Okay I think there's a medication acuity issue, possibly some actual abuse, and intimidation to get other nurses to leave."

"That's enough. Email me the details, I can't find a pen."

"Pull one out of your ass."

"You're so funny. Is your fax number still the same?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, I expect a hooker popping out of a birthday cake this year."

"Me and Molly were talking about gigolos the other day."

"I want a dirty filthy hairy man, not one of those manscaped ones that shaves his balls."

"Ewwww."

"Yum."

"I'll figure something out."

"No need. Come to my pink party. It's in December, you know holidays and spreading good cheer through orgasms."

"You're having a pink party?"

"Don't sound so scandalized. You sound like my grandmother."

"_Is _your grandmother invited?"

"She'd have a stroke and die in the middle of my living room."

"Does she have life insurance?"

"That's horrible."

"I'll try to consider the idea, but most likely I make some fake excuse and let you pick out sex toys without me."

"Bitch."

"Queen."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"I'm going to bed."

"Go to bed."

She hung up and prided herself on being so good at lying. The patient abuse suspicions were just an excuse to get the reports. Not feeling the least bit bad about it she wiggled her toes just to feel the icy tingle of pins and needles go through them until they felt like normal toes again.

Her suspicions were less about abuse than they were about her own curiosity.

She liked to be nosy. It felt good sometimes. The feeling stayed with her as she got ready for the gym and dressed in relative silence in her heavy sweatpants and thermal shirt.

Surveying herself in the mirror she found she'd almost become completely flat chested due to the influence of her sports bra.

"Well," she looked out of her bedroom at the lazy couch bound companion. "At least I don't have to worry about them going anywhere because of gravity," she commented dryly.

She let Brigs keep his spot on the couch as she went to gather her shoes from their spot under the coffee table and put her hair up.

"Be good while I'm gone, big boy," she whispered demurely as she walked out the front door and swung her car keys around her finger on the stroll to her truck.

There were police everywhere in town it seemed to her as she drove through a crowded street between two solid lines of storefronts.

Tuning her radio she pumped herself up for a long workout with a heavy rock mix that wasn't exactly her first choice but it was the only choice without a commercial for a scrap metal company or family run supermarket on at seven in the morning.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 33:<strong>

The makings of a good day weren't usually found in a make-shift on scene police head quarters, it was not the way she had pictured her morning starting.

It had started as a good morning for all of the hour and forty minutes she'd spent on the park grounds putting Brigadier the over eager dog through his paces.

Maybe it was a little colder than she wanted and a little dismal in the early hours but it hadn't been horrific to start off, the horrific came later after she'd had coffee and put the dog on his lead, after she'd palmed her cigarette against the early morning drizzle and pulled on her sweatshirt as she went out the door.

After she had gotten halfway through her commands.

After she buried the butt of her stomped out cigarette in the wet leaves.

After she chastised herself for not picking a sweatshirt with a hood.

And then her dog came back from his counterclockwise ranging with a bloody uniform boot in his teeth, laying it at her feet with a lolling tongue waiting for his treat.

Blood covered footwear and the fact that he hadn't come back barking meant the shoe had no owner or that it did but they weren't any trouble. Dead people rarely made much trouble on their own.

She had her cell phone, and called it in. The operator told her to wait but she didn't because bloody hiking boots were the type of things that sparked morbid curiosity.

Nurses were supposed to act as first line medical help in emergencies where other more qualified first responders hadn't arrived yet, like car crashes and patients going into labor in public places, but it was pretty obvious from the gouged facial features and stark whiteness of bone shrapnel poking through skin and clothing that her first aid skills were unnecessary.

She called the dispatch number again and told them where she was and what she was looking at.

They got there within seven minutes of her hanging up. She barely got a chance to poke around, not that she wasn't aware that it was a crime scene but because there were dead bodies and it was hard not to look at them.

The man in the maintenance jump suit was missing fingers and the leg with the shoe still attached seemed to only be attached by the pant leg and the tightness of the shoe holding it in place. The lolling of the man's tongue from his ripped jaw was almost comical if anything had been funny about the situation.

The police got there too fast for her to poke around further.

Brigadier was not pleased to have strange men yell at her to identify herself and she had to give him a sharp tug with the lead she wound around her palm and a hushed command to quiet him.

"_Bolo_. Brigs. I'm the one who called it in officer." She squinted as the drizzle came down faster and the answering unit stepped further into the camp ground area.

She tried not to be too offended about the way his hand stayed close enough to his belt to reach his gun in less than a second if he was trained well; she got it, strange woman, big dog, dead bodies, crime scene, it made sense to be cautious.

The officer that reached her first was a young guy, older than her but still young. "Miss if you could please, we'd appreciate if you'd allow us to escort us back to the road so we can secure the scene."

"Yeah, sure."

His gaze shifted away from her face and down at her hands, she realized she was still holding the bloody hiking boot. "I guess I should give this to you, right?"

He yanked an evidence bag from his windbreaker pocket and waved it open with a plastic whoosh, he held it out and she dropped it inside.

The older officer came down from the inclined ground above the camping area and told them they had units on the way, he escorted her to the road. He offered her a seat in the back, 'door open, of course' he had added with a wide joking smile and a laugh at the not really a joke, joke.

She declined and waited on the road leaning against the car hood on the shoulder side of the road.

"You seem pretty calm ma'am, are you alright? Are you in shock?" Suddenly the older officer looked concerned as if she was about to fall to the ground and he would have no clue what to do.

"I guess I'm used to it," she replied, shortening the length of lead on the leash even more as the blare of sirens became audible and Brigadier trotted restlessly in a small circle.

When she looked up she caught the confused look the police officer was giving her, "I'm a nurse, I'm not in shock. I'm just a little uh, confused? I guess. I don't really know what to do from here," she explained.

"We'll handle it. You'll have to fill out a statement, leave your information. Things like that, do you have to call work or family to let them know what's going on? You may be here for awhile." He seemed sympathetic, probably because he realized just how long 'awhile' was.

She shook her head in the negative; she kicked out her heel and rubbed it across the asphalt and then the dirt and gravel edging it in, the sound rough in a dull way. "No, take as long as you need. I'm not working today, anyway," Lucette tilted her head up to look at the muted hazy glow of the sun through the cloud cover.

Police came out in pairs from still running cars and asked the officer standing with her where to go, he gave directions for taping off the area asked what the ETA on the crime scene technicians was. They ignored her presence beyond per functionary greetings of 'Ma'am' or 'Miss,' nods, and handshakes and simple humor about how wild it was to find a crime scene and much of the same for as long as it took for everyone to show up and close off the road.

The officer beside pulled seniority and left the task of standing with her to a new recruit, as soon as the responsibility of babysitting her changed hands she sat herself on the hood of the car and bounced her sneakers against the tire.

Her dog laid belly down on the wet ground under her dangling legs, her knees stopping at least some of the rain from soaking his fur. It didn't take long before the officer next to her started to lose patience and quite suddenly yelled out for someone to find the detective for the scene.

She was slightly disappointed that the detective underwhelmed her; it wasn't like it was on the crime drama shows. He wasn't handsome in a roguish charmer sort of way, he didn't wear a suit, and he wasn't eating a hot dog or a donut.

He was slightly overweight with an ugly mustache a hat she'd only seen televised poker players wearing and a cardigan sweater that seemed comically elderly.

At least he had an umbrella; he offered it to her while he took out a small notebook and flipped the cover back. Brigadier underneath her feet barely stirred, bored already. She held the umbrella more over her legs and the detective's pocket notebook than her head.

Slipping her hand down she feed the dog a treat for being on his best behavior.

The detective introduced himself as Detective Mills and she couldn't help but make a joke he must have heard a thousand time before that she couldn't resist rehashing, he laughed anyway and asked if he could get her a cup of coffee or a bagel, she opted for a coffee, black with no sugar and he called out the command to a passing officer.

"Being a Detective has perks," she observed with a toothy grin.

"Like you _wouldn't_ believe," he chortled from deep in his throat, his neck folds wobbled with its reverberation.

"We send all the new ones on snipe hunts to find key for the archives but of course they're all on the computers now so we all send them off to the farthest part away in the precinct and back, and then we bet on how long it will take them to figure it out."

"Too funny," she laughed despite it not being particularly funny.

"I think so," he nodded.

He handed her a cup of coffee, it was hot against her palms and scalded her mouth but she swallowed and savored the burn as the wind chilled the air around the road. The car was warm under her butt and the backs of her legs, her neck and face were freezing.

"Okay, just a few questions. What were you doing when you found the scene?"

"I was walking my dog and he gets willful whenever we get to a new place," the detective nodded sympathetically. "So I have to keep up on his commands and I had him doing some ranging and he brought the boot back to me and I called and then I went to go see if there was anyone who needed help."

"Did you see anyone else at the scene?"

"No. Just the dead guy."

"Did your dog seem like he might have seen someone in the woods while you were walking, do you think he might have scared someone off the scene. Did he bark or do anything?" He looked down at the dog while he asked.

"There was no one there."

At her assertion he redirected his stare. He seemed to be a wary of the assertion.

"I'm positive, Brigs is trained to threaten when someone he doesn't know comes into sight if I'm not with him, so he would have barked and run back to me."

"You trained him?"

"Yes."

"Would we be able to swab his teeth, can he handle that?"

"Yeah, right now?"

"If you wouldn't mind," he shrugged.

"No, of course."

She motioned for him to step back as she slid off the hood and squatted next to her dog. " Just, yeah. Brigadier, _bunk_. Good boy. _Bind._" She arranged herself to sit behind the dog and have him settled sitting just between her knees as she sat down on the wet ground.

Her ass went cold and numb from the position. "You can do the swab now, I can get his mouth."

"We appreciate it, Miss. I'll go get our technician."

"Good boy," she soothed as another windbreaker clad official with gloves collected samples.

Definitely not the morning off she had planned she thought as she kept her dogs jaws pried open with all the strength her numb fingers could manage in the chilly drizzle.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _On Derek smoking_, well he had that lighter at the ready in 'Magic Bullet' and I doubt they stopped at a gas station to buy one, you know. Most people who don't smoke don't carry lighters around with them. _JCAHO_ is the Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations which comes into all the hospitals around the country and makes sure they are keeping with the set standards. _Incident reports_ are things that are never ever allowed to be in a patient chart so it's a big deal if someone writes it in the chart that one was filled out. _Sundowning_ is what happens a lot of times with patient who have dementia in which they have increased levels of confusion and/or agitation. _Kegels_ are pelvic floor exercises. _Long term care facilities_ are usually in the back of hospitals, sometimes they're connected sometimes they're not, from what we see of them in the show I'm making the conclusion that the LTCF is in the back of the hospital. _The movie she was watching_ is 'Alien' of course. _Pink parties_ are like Tupperware parties, except with sexy toys. The joke about _Detective Mills_ is of course a reference to the movie 'Seven' and the "What's in the box!" part.


	3. The Panic

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **This chapter happens between and during episodes eight and nine. Note that by episode nine I mean a little bit before the car chase and a lot before the lacrosse game and the events with Derek and Stiles at the nursing home.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 33:<strong>

"Excuse me, Miss Bramble? I'm Sherriff Stilinski, I know you gave your statement to the officer but would you mind if we talked for a moment?" He led her away from the police car where she had been left waiting after the evidence technician had swabbed her dog's mouth.

He guided her with a hand on her shoulder towards the make-shift tarp covered crime scene command post, or whatever it may have been called otherwise.

"Sure." She answered belatedly realizing she was already inside the tent. He offered her a seat in a folding chair a few inches away from a tear in the tarp that poured water in a small, smooth stream.

"I just wanted to make sure we have all your information and know where to connect you if we have any more questions."

Lucette nodded ascent and watched her dog settle himself under the table and away from the dripping holes in the tarp above.

"You're staying in the house at the edge of the park grounds? The Gulsa's property?" He looked over the notes he had received from Detective Mills.

"Yes. I'm renting for the next nine months," she nodded.

"You're here for a family visit?" He questioned her with half a head tilt and a pinched expression that only curved half of his face, like he had a cigar in his mouth or was doing an especially bad Clint Eastwood impression.

"Work. I'm a travel nurse; I'm working over at the long term care facility." She answered gesturing vaguely in the direction of the road as if the facility was right behind her.

"A nurse, huh? My son's best friend's mother is a nurse, over at the hospital."

"Well, I guess there are a lot of us out there."

"I'm going to give you a ride back to your house, but if I can make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

He didn't continue until he had shown her out of the bustling command post and into the passenger seat of his police cruiser after securing her dog in the back.

"I wouldn't go out alone, even with your dog with you," he looked in the rearview at Brigadier. Lucette watched the gloomy scenery pass with mild interest for a moment before turning back to look at the Sheriff.

"There have been a lot of wild animal attacks lately and now this. For your safety stay to your property, no walks in the woods."

"I will," she promised, lying and trying hard to keep from rolling her eyes at the idea of him believing she was sincere about what she had just told him. She was safe enough.

"Good," he did the imaginary cigar chewing cheek sucking thing again with his mouth as he glanced at her sideways and nodded to himself before glancing back at the road and rain splattered windshield.

"And lock your doors, windows too. Keep a well lit perimeter." He added each point after a moment of conscious thought; he didn't glance at her though.

"Make sure I've loaded the revolver," she ventured with humor seeping into her tone.

That made him slow the car down unconscious of the loss of speed and actually look at her and then down at her waistband. She knew her holster was showing.

"It _is_ illegal to carry firearms in state parks," he told her slowing down even more before realizing what the car was doing and then hitting the gas to speed back up smoothly.

"But you know that." He made a point to look hard at the holster and then blatantly ignore its presence, like the odor of flatulence in a crowded elevator.

She watched his hands clench the steering wheel on and off as his knuckles blanched and then returned to their normal coloring over and over again as they drove past the storefronts on Main Street.

"The concealed carry laws for the state in incorporated areas are limited to police and business owners or people who have to carry large sums of money. I know. Though this isn't a town that's considered 'incorporated' is it?" She teased after rattling off the more important facts about the state's gun laws.

"No, not with a population less than two-hundred thousand people, but a permit from the sheriff's department_ is_ required." He raised his eyebrows and gave her another glance from the corner of his eye.

"And how would one go about getting a permit?" She quipped.

"Licensed firearm, good standing within the community, good cause for having to carry a concealed weapon, and all current gun safety certifications," he quoted the requirements off from a mental checklist it seemed.

She nodded, slowly; at first just letting her chin drop to her chest and then for real in a smooth jerk, once, twice, perhaps a little over eager that she was getting her way.

"I'd still suggest not walking your dog in the woods when there's no one around. _Despite _whatever safety measures you've taken."

It was like listening to a dad talk to their kid, not like her dad talking to her but a normal kid's dad, a dad who didn't tan and have a little black book. A small town laid back, overprotective type of dad. It was nice to talk to someone like that.

"Thank you, Sheriff." When she meant it she said it.

"I assume you are up to date with your registration and licensing and gun safety courses?"

"Of course," she smiled brightly, proud of her thoroughness in such matters.

"Then I don't see a reason to write a citation."

"I appreciate it." She scrunched her nose up in a way that even to her seemed to suggest she was a child who'd been caught doing something they shouldn't be but instead of being punished had their parents laugh at her.

They pulled into her driveway, her dog rose up on all four in the backseat and rubbed his snout against the fogged window eager to escape and run into the non-rainy domicile.

Sheriff Stilinski turned as much as his seatbelt would allow and looked at her very seriously, one hand still on the wheel and the other itching to just point or fidget in some other way.

"Listen, if you know how to use it and you're not obvious about it carry it with you."

She raised her eyebrow, both of them because she had never quite gotten the hang of being able to raise them separately.

"Isn't that the last thing you should be advising me?"

"As the sheriff? Yes. As a father and a member of the community? No. But as a sheriff I suppose it's okay to allow someone to conceal and carry a firearm if a permit has been filed and is just waiting to be put in the system, after all nurses work late shifts and are pillars of good standing in the community."

"That is _so _true," she intoned widening her eyes comically as if someone was just finally pointing out the fact for the first time and she'd never realized before.

"Thanks for the ride, and…the advice," she told him unlatching her seatbelt and sliding it off her. As she got out and opened the back door to let out her dog the Sheriff leaned his head back into the backseat.

"Be safe, Miss Bramble. We should get in touch with you within the week for a follow-up; just let the desk clerk know what time is best to have a unit come by when they call."

He looked genuinely concerned. It was nice to see from someone.

"I will, have a good day Sheriff," she told him quietly, meekly as she lost herself to her own thoughts.

"You too."

* * *

><p><strong>Day 34: <strong>

"So guess who found a dead body in the woods?"

"You?"

"Uh-huh."

"How'd you find it?"

"When I was walking the dog."

"What'd it look like?"

"Busted up."

"Pretty cool."

"The police think it's a crazy psycho killer."

"Lock your door."

"Duh."

"Okay. Be safe. Don't kennel the dog at night."

"Dad, I haven't put him in a kennel for years now."

"Just making sure."

"I know, listen Stella's staying at my place while I'm gone."

"I know, she told me."

"Just making sure, in case she forgot."

"Uh-huh."

"Alright, I'll call you when I remember. I've got work in about four hours."

"Okey dokey."

"Bye."

"Bye bye."

Terse, laconic, short, brief, abbreviated, as always all of the above, she thought to herself about her father and her's phone correspondence. She glanced at the call timer on the phone, catching it before the display went black.

Two minutes and fourteen seconds, that had to be a new personal best.

"Here. Hang that up," she told Brigadier as she put the phone on the kitchen table and ambled her way out of the room and up the stairs in a dramatic fashion that her dog watched with rabid interest.

She snorted to herself at the idea that he was probably waiting for her to do a trick. Peeking into her office room she found that she had yet to receive the promised fax from her agency rep associate who was much more fun to talk about men with than Molly, mostly because her best friend didn't particularly find her conversational lewdness endearing.

Sighing, she wished she had more friends. Her boredom was reaching a mind melting level that left her eyes rolling in her skull with every few steps at things that weren't worth the effort it took to go through the complicated ocular rotations.

"Brigs, what should we do tonight? Work was _horrendous_, absolutely lackluster in every single way. Go make me a bath...," she stopped to think for a moment before adding, "And a sandwich."

From the bottom of the stairs he stared waiting for a treat or her to do something to entertain _him_.

She sat on a step and let her chin press against her fist, "Not feelin' it, huh?" She asked in reference to the command to go set up a bath for her and the sandwich request.

Eagerly her dog climbed the stairs to where she sat and put his head in her lap, nuzzling her hip. She looked at the spot the gap between jeans and shirt bared and studied the pinker, shinier line of raised tissue in a long streak, the twin to the one she had on the left.

"Listen, I'm going to tell you something very important, Brigs." When he looked up she pulled on his face and leaned down close enough to kiss the animal.

"Don't. Climb. Big. Ass. Trees."

After a moment she considered the statement and added, "Okay you can climb big ass trees, just don't fall out of said big ass trees. You get me?" She gave him a mock serious bug eyed look.

He licked her nose and mouth, tongue rolling out of his mouth and remaining hanging out of his lower jaw after the display of affection.

"I was being serious," she scowled. "People were not meant to climb trees. Maybe dogs are. Who knows? Be safe wear a harness."

She considered how tired she was, coupled with the state of nothing going on she was getting loopy from the lack of rest and inability to go to sleep at the moment from being so keyed up from work and thus everything seemed colorless and indescribably drab.

For a lengthy stretch of time she merely sat on the stairs, leaving them only to procure an ashtray and her pack of cigarettes from her office and thought up in great detail how one would teach a dog to climb trees, and how to engineer a tree climbing dog harness and other useless tedious mental work outs pertaining to the subject of animal ingenuity and adaptability.

Finally she realized what she was doing. She'd just sat and thought about trees and dogs for such a ridiculous amount of time she was disgusted with herself for not finding a better way to waste time.

She gave up on the idea of her dog getting a bath ready for her, instead she let the water run and turned on the television to wait for the tub to fill after slinking down the stairs in a similarly dramatic fashion that she had used to climb them, like she was on her way into a ballroom instead of her living room.

For the past few days she'd tried to avoid watching the news, it aggravated her that it took them so long to finish a story, detail wise not actual time wise. She got sick of watching the same clips and reels every day. She figured that by now they'd at least have more than five minutes of a story.

She caught the tail end of the latest report on the police situation and then the weather.

There was now officially an arrest warrant out for 'could be psycho killer' Mr. Tight Ass, Derek Hale. They said he was wanted on suspicion of murder and kidnapping. She could officially now tell Molly that she had ogled a wanted man. It made her giggle.

The shock value alone would make it worth mentioning the next time she talked to her friend on the phone.

She avoided the urge to call her, she wouldn't be much fun on the phone anyway when all she wanted to do was take a bath and go to bed. Turning on the over tub light and leaving the brighter ones over the sink off she shrugged out of her clothes and left the pile on the floor.

Placing her ashtray and cigarettes on the tiles next to the tub she remembered that she had forgotten to turn the television off and that she didn't particularly want to have to listen to it while she soaked and smoked trying to relax.

The naked stroll through her living room searching for the remote gave her the idea to climb up the stairs in the same dramatic fashion she had already done, she wondered if it would feel more glamorous to do it without clothes.

In sudden elation she heard the distinctive sign of something screeching upstairs, her fax machine. Now at least she had an excuse to slink up the stairs.

Giving up on the search for the remote she pressed the button on the television that did the same thing and ascended the staircase, she decided, pausing at the top that it did indeed feel more glamorous when done without clothes on.

It suddenly struck her as very strange to be standing in her home office sans clothing; still she shrugged off the feeling of misplaced behavioral understanding and watched her fax machine work until finally after what seemed like ten minutes it stopped.

She wondered if time seemed to move faster or slower while naked. She filed the thought away for future pondering.

Reading the handwritten first page agency representative/drag queen Mike had faxed over she chuckled and showed it to her dog, who had followed her faithfully up the stairs yet again.

Reading it out loud she looked for a reaction from the large animal, "'to my favorite bitch on this green earth, please find the requested documents minus the boring pages and edited for only the juicy bits of inf.'"

She paused and squinted at the confusing abbreviation.

"What the hell does that mean? Oh info! Dumbass forgot the 'O,'" she lost her place and found it again after turning the page around again for a quick look. "Juicy bits of _info_ blah blah, okay here we go: 'Six incidents, plus the one from the hospital admission before transfer. Enjoy. Pink party is December twenty-second. Show up or I will _shank _you and then scalp you and make myself a new wig from your gorgeous locks. Miss you, Mike.'"

Frowning she watched her dog stare at the note and then at her as she turned the paper around for his view.

"That's what it says. I'm not joking; he really wrote that he would scalp me. Maybe I need less friends, huh? Since they are so mean to me."

She collected the print outs and put them in a neat stack on top of a few folders on the desk.

On her way down the stairs she had outgrown the urge do anything but descend normally.

Pondering what else she had to do before settling into her bath she decided a drink and background noise was needed.

Tuning through the music channels on the television without the remote was tedious.

"Did you know, Brigs, what the difference between regular jazz and bebop jazz is?"

At his stare she answered herself.

"Bebop jazz does not have the drummer merely as a timekeeper for the rhythm instead the drummer improvises with the rest of the band. I also think it sounds better. Now I need a drink, because unlike Molly I don't need complex mixing instructions to enjoy one."

She returned to the tub with her drink and clunked down into the water with a wince at the brief scald of it on her feet and thighs.

Sighing heavily she tied her hair up and let her chin touch the water until it hurt.

"Oh, yeah. I know how to have a good time," she said more to herself than to the animal who had chosen to fall asleep on the throw rug at the foot of the stairs than watch her take a bath.

Taking a sip from her glass she let her foot splash up from the water and then fall back in.

"I don't know why you're taking a nap; I'm a gorgeous naked woman in a bathtub you should be drooling more than usual." She laughed at her own joke and sunk further into the water closing her eyes.

"Maybe you're bashful, because you're too much of a ham for the ladies to like boy dogs, Brigs. I saw you trying to woo that Labrador a few walks back."

Again she amused herself in the absence of an answer by lighting a cigarette and relishing the idea that she had the incident reports to look over.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 37:<strong>

She had a thing about grocery shopping.

Mostly it was a thing that involved no list, no specified price limit, and no reservations about picking up things that were never going to be used.

Mostly the thing was that she was a horrible grocery shopper.

A meander down the health and wellness isle convinced her that she was better off hoarding medical supplies from central supply for what the grocery store charged for first aid materials and also that she should quit her job and make a new line of feminine hygiene products because whoever already had was making a killing, twelve dollars for a box of tampons was, to her, ludicrous.

Over the course of an hour and a half she managed to fill her cart with foodstuffs, toiletries, and additions to her cleaning product collection.

On the stroll through frozen foods she wondered if she had forgotten anything important and caught sight of a woman telling what she assumed to be a small child to stop complaining.

It probably wouldn't have forced her to take a second look if the woman hadn't been grocery shopping in her scrubs. Dark navy with a white underlay long sleeve, the type the nurses at the hospital had to wear. She glanced at the woman as she passed and saw that she was not in fact reprimanding a child but her teenage son.

With a silent laugh Lucette came to think of the two age groups as strikingly similar upon further thought.

At the check-out the woman and her son came to stand on line behind her while the cashier rang up the same customer that had been there when she'd stepped onto the short line.

"Excuse me," came from behind her.

Lucette turned and wondered if she had dropped something, she looked at the ground to see.

"Do you work at the nursing home?"

The question made her tilt her head in confusion. "Yes, I do," instinctively she looked down to see if she was wearing her uniform, she knew she wasn't but it was a habit to look at her clothes whenever someone asked if she was a nurse.

"Sorry, it's just I thought you looked familiar. You were carrying gloves the other day and you passed me at the desk."

"Really? That's so funny."

They both laughed and chatted, her son behind her looking impatient and bored, cutting in at least twice to ask his mother an inane question.

As if just remembering the woman leaned over her cart and extended a hand, "Melissa."

She shook, "Lucette."

It was her turn on be rung up. She piled her cart collection onto the rolling belt and the conversation lapsed into silence until she had put up all her items and rolled her cart in front of her to make room in the small aisle space.

"So they had you running errands the other day huh?"

"Yeah, well they like to put us new recruits through the gauntlet," she joked.

"You just start there?"

She helped the cashier bag and started to load up her cart again.

"Yeah, agency job. Nine month assignment, maybe longer if they need me to stick around."

"Oh, good stuff. What agency?" The older woman looked genuinely curious.

"Blue Cap."

"Do they do travel nursing?"

The woman put a foot on the lower rung of her cart and cocked a hip and accidentally smacked her son as she reached to scratch her neck. She uttered a 'sorry, honey,' in his direction without turning her head all the way and then directed her attention back to Lucette.

"They have a branch for it."

"I was thinking of doing that after this one leaves the nest one day," she jerked her thumb behind her at her son who was examining the gum selection.

"The agency usually sends someone out to the hospitals every few months. I'll keep a look out for them for you. You work in…," She made a mental note of the woman and to jot it down in her notebook later for reference when she saw an agency representative in the hospital.

"Emergency Department."

"Okay, if I see one I'll tell them to look for Melissa in the Emergency Department."

The woman smiled at her warmly, "Hey, maybe we'll see each other around one day."

"For sure." Lucette agreed putting more bags into her cart.

"Well come over and chat sometime alright?"

"Alright I will," she nodded as she slid her debit card through the reader and entered her pin. As she started to push her cart away down the small space between the two check-out stations she gave another quick smile to the woman and forced herself not to give one to her teenage son in the sports jersey.

It would probably make her seem like a creepy pervert she rationalized.

"Okay. Good. It was nice to meet you."

"You too." She called back as she went forward to the automatic doors and the parking lot.

After packing her truck up with groceries and returning her cart she found the ride home to be more exciting than the one to the store for the simple reason of the documents waiting for her to get her hands on.

She spent the rest of her day off in her upstairs office room and went through all of her reports she had to send through to the agency based on her team's performance and other necessary duties of her charge nurse position.

On the floor next to her chair Brigs tried to nap but with her horrible sing along to the oldies station classics of songs made popular by men with names like Dean or Frank he had long since given up the notion of falling asleep at her feet.

She couldn't blame him since even to her the warbling wailing that came from her mouth was especially horrible and cracked on certain notes, but still, she tried.

Keeping the best for last she amused herself by occupying her time with doing her nails a color of blue that matched the trim on her uniform dress even though technically it was against policy to wear nail polish any color that wasn't clear.

She bargained with herself that since you couldn't toss a shoe without hitting a set of acrylic dragon lady nails on the unit that nail polish wasn't too bad a sin to commit.

Gingerly she took books of the shelves and arranged them for reference when she got around to peeking at the faxed over reports that she shouldn't really have in the first place, at least not for the reasons she truly had versus the ones she had given over the phone.

Finally the last task on her list besides the obvious one of assuaging her own curiosity was tackled as soon as her nails dried to a suitable amount.

The cleaning kit was compact and done up in a leather box and a red velvet interior. It had come with the firearm in the will her grandmother had made up and it made her smug to know the old woman trusted her eldest granddaughter more with a gun than her youngest.

Not that her sister was particularly fond of gun but that was besides the point, she wasn't herself an enthusiast but it made her feel safe to have one. It hadn't reached the level where she considered it a hobby but her affection for the item was at enough of a level to give it a regular cleaning every month or so.

When she finished she slipped it back into its holster and placed it on the corner of her desk and meandered over to the piles of books she had left on the floor with her folder of reference papers in hand, she sat on the dog mattress and earned a curious stare from the animal still dozing lazily by her chair, not willing to move and fight her for the bit of cushioning.

The incident reports were more accidental injury than anything else just like Trish the charge nurse had told her, but the accompanying details of the investigation for the causes of the incidents were much more interesting.

The problem lay in the lab reports, she double checked and triple checked and it confirmed that the problem wasn't an innate one that had to do with the print-out, because everything else was normal, the only thing odd on every single one was the one value.

It took her an hour and three cups of coffee to reference her psychiatric drug book to make sure the number she remembered in her head was the acceptable range of the medication and then calculate over the amount of weeks what his levels should be, based on the initial assessments made by his doctor and the pharmacy technicians.

Her memory was right, the values weren't.

For the past six years the discrepancies had been present except for the very beginning of the treatment and one emergency admission one year ago following an incident where he had lunged and a nurse broke her wrist after falling and lacerated her scalp on a piece of furniture on the way down.

The beginning of the treatment and the emergency admission which hadn't been in the nursing home but in the attached hospital

They had started with a deaconate dose of fifty milligrams of Haldol and for the following three weeks his plasma held a consistent level of it, the same thing happened after the emergency admission for a diagnosis of 'acute psychosis.'

The report went on to clarify that the incident was a direct result of the low concentration of the prescribed antipsychotic and in response they doubled the deaconate dose to one hundred milligrams.

There were no more incidents after they prescribed the new dose. However, despite his levels staying consistent to the average absorption rate for the first month after the new dose the drug concentration in his plasma kept dropping.

So either Mr. Hale had an extremely adaptive liver able to change its metabolic rate when it encountered a drug that slowed all body processes down because it did just that to his nervous system _or _someone wasn't giving him the drug.

Since all his other levels were normal he was getting everything _but_ the antipsychotic sedative, his antipsychotic sedative which was scheduled for administration at twenty-two hundred hours every day as denoted by the abbreviation 'qd'.

Ten o'clock at night for the past six years.

Six years in which he had the single same night nurse who was apparently unaware of what the blood levels of Haldol were supposed to be, or was too lazy to check them. In either case then her patient would have to have the liver function of Superman and a highly resistant nervous system even after having a traumatic brain injury.

Or that very same nurse had been giving him all his other meds and holding his Haldol, but they had no surplus on the unit so it was going somewhere.

The question that came to mind on that point was what purpose someone had for holding and hoarding that much Haldol.

She gave the night nurse the benefit of the doubt but quickly decided that she would stay over into the next shift she worked to watch to see if the medication was given and to check the medication administration record before reporting her suspicions.

It seemed that all of a sudden the lie she had made to get the incident reports was turning a shade more truthful the more she read the documents and her own notes on the patient.

The phone rang and she scrambled across the floor to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling for Miss Bramble."

"This is she."

"Hello, Miss Bramble this is the Beacon Hill's Sheriff's Department, I'm calling to confirm a meeting with you during the next week. Is there a particular day and time you'd like an officer to come by and conduct the follow-up interview?"

"Uh, yeah. Just give me a second to check my work schedule."

Raising up and looking at her desk calendar upside down she saw that she was off the following Wednesday. She told the police secretary that anytime after noon would be fine.

"How does two sound?"

"That sounds perfect."

"Thank you, Miss Bramble. If you have any questions please call otherwise have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too. Goodbye."

She hung up and put the phone back on the desk and returned to her scattered papers wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 41:<strong>

She stayed over into the next shift and made it seem as if she were stuck completing her nurse's note for Peter Hale while also arranging her assessment reports for the past few days. While she had planned to do her reconnaissance of Peter Hale's night nurse on her first day back from being off things hadn't gone as planned.

The first day there had been an emergency admission that she needed to take over as a favor to Trish and then she had the next two days off and she couldn't exactly show up at eight at night on her night off without it looking suspicious and blowing her hopes of catching the night nurse do something she shouldn't be doing.

Then there had been a staff meeting that had ended with everyone going out to eat and she had already told them she would join them before she realized she was supposed to be spying on Jennifer the night nurse.

Now was her chance.

She waited until nine-thirty when the redhead moved to the medication cart to prepare for the med pass.

She was covertly trying to watch the woman out of the corner of her eye from the nurse's station when someone pushed her chair hard and sent her rolling across the tiles, her papers scattering to the floor.

"Shit! Sorry, didn't mean to push you that hard."

It was Samantha the nurse's aide that smiled sheepishly and bent to pick up the scattered papers.

"No, it's alright. I'm just distracted I guess, perfect victim for a prank. I deserve it for spacing."

From her crouch the girl crinkled her eyes and gave her a pitying look. "Aren't you off anyway?"

Lucette waved off the remark with a lie she had ready for use, "Technically yes, but not really. I have all this paperwork to finish."

"Where's mother hen?"

The girl asked referring to the charge nurse on staff after Trish went home.

"She didn't have time to eat before she came here; she had to drop the kids off or something. I told her to go to the hospital cafeteria to get something and I'd cover."

That wasn't a lie.

"You are amazing."

"I try," she mumbled distractedly as she caught a glimpse of red hair that disappeared either into Peter Hale's room or his neighbor's.

Samantha placed the collected papers onto her lap and smiled as she looked for something to do, inevitably having a free moment until a task presented itself. Lucette scrambled to follow Jennifer into the room but she needed an excuse to keep Sam occupied.

"Oh, shoot! I think I lost my keys. If someone looks for me I'm in two-eighteen, that's the only place they could be."

She left without waiting for a response and adopted a brisk pace down the hall.

As she entered the room, she tried to appear nonchalant about her sudden appearance in the doorframe. There was a medication cup on the overbed table and she couldn't tell if it was empty or not.

"Have you given him his meds yet?"

At her question the redhead turned from her spot next to the bed and dropped the hand she'd been holding back onto the bed, startled.

A moment passed, it seemed filled with a type of tension Lucette couldn't quite describe or understand, nervous energy, maybe, or something more sinister.

"Just finished," was the tight response she received, the redhead's lips were a thin line on her face.

"I'm Lucette, his morning nurse."

"I know. Aren't you off now?"

The tone almost made her take a step back in offense but she kept her emotions on a tight leash. "I had some stuff to finish up. You're Jennifer, right?"

With a curt nod the woman started to clean up the garbage left over from the medication administration, "Did you need something?"

Jennifer asked keeping her eyes anywhere but on the other woman.

"No, but hey I know you have other patients and since I'm still here and his meds are done I can take over for you," the woman met her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, no doubt telling her it wouldn't be necessary but Lucette continued too quickly to let her get a word of response in.

"Just because _I'm_ technically his one-to-one when I'm here, so I'd rather be here than at the nurse's station. You know?"

All she got in returned was a forced smile and a laconic 'Fine,' as the woman swept from the room with little preamble.

Leaning her head out the door she watched the woman all but stomp away. She adopted the shocked looked of someone who had just overheard someone yell really loudly at someone else at the redhead's behavior, the whole exchange had felt weird.

Pressing the intercom button on the wall and ringing the nurse's station the charge nurse she had sent to the cafeteria answered.

"Hey, I'm going to be here for a little bit longer so I figured I'd do my one-to-one duties while I do my reports. That alright with you?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Want me to have Sam bring you your stuff? She needs something to do. I'll just send her."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The aide came in within the following five minutes and left without much conversation beyond that she had to go to a linen change down the hall and to 'have fun' with her reports.

Lucette made a show of grumbling and rolling her eyes. The moment the only sounds to be heard in the hall were the odd cough or snort from across the hall or the blare of the news at nine from the patient rooms she walked over to the bed where Mr. Hale lay awake and staring unseeingly up at the ceiling, his hand limp on the bed still where Jennifer had left it.

She told him she was just going to check his injection site as she lifted the covers from his leg and studied the area where the intramuscular deaconate injection of Haldol should have been given, there should have been some redness to give away the location if the shot had been given.

There wasn't one, on either leg.

Her suspicions were founded, she had to check the MAR again to be sure, but if Haldol was still on the sheet of prescribed meds then Jennifer the LPN had some explain to do to the board of directors and an investigation committee.

She rifled through her papers until she found the one she had hidden in a paper clipped file of team evaluations in case anyone had felt the urge to look through them when she had left them at the nurse's station.

The paper was a blank complaint report. She tried not to seem so pleased about filling it out but it was difficult to keep the grin from her lips as she put pen to paper.

By eleven she had finished it and slipped it back into its hiding spot among other unrelated papers. Getting up and giving a goodbye to her patient she put the chair back in place and turned to find the door closed where it should have been open.

The idea that Sam had closed it without her noticing made her smile softly at the girl's thoughtfulness of making sure she had quiet to work in, no doubt having seen her working hard on writing her 'reports.'

It would have never crossed her mind to look over her shoulder, until she caught a whiff of something that shouldn't be in the room seeing as the last cigarette she had smoked had been before her shower and before she left for her shift at seven in the morning.

Old smoke.

She hadn't even heard him come in, hadn't heard him close the door, hadn't even known he'd been sitting on the other side of the bed in the chair behind the half pulled privacy curtain not more than ten feet away.

The pile of papers she was holding would have fallen if her hands hadn't tightened in a white knuckled death grip.

"What are you doing here?"

He stood from the chair and advanced on her and it occurred to her that the blood on his shirt implicated that he was injured or someone else was.

"Making sure he's alright."

There was a police alert that had gone around about him and what to do if he showed up at the facility that she received a memo about during the staff meeting the day before, she had laughed off the idea and now she couldn't remember a thing on the 'what do side' side of the memo had said.

Time to improvise.

"Is that your blood?" She pointed.

He nodded.

"Are you injured?"

His teeth gleamed as he clenched them moving towards her again.

"Stop moving and I'll help. Keep moving and I'll run out the door."

He made no move to sit but stopped his advance, took a small step back even if she hadn't imaged it, it at least looked like he had moved. His hands clenched into fists and his face paled visibly in the dim light.

"I haven't killed anyone."

"That's great, but please, just sit down."

"If you really want to help you're going to need more supplies."

It hadn't occurred to her that she was actually going to be helping him. She had said it automatically as a method to keep him thinking of other things besides possibly killing her, if he really was a crazy psycho killer.

When she didn't answer he went on.

"Go get them, don't let anyone know I'm here." His eyes shifted towards the bed at his uncle after he said it, a warning maybe, or a bluff. She couldn't decide which but she understood the implications of what could happen if she did go and tell someone and he was still in the room.

Crazy psycho killers killed family members all the time, it was practically a requirement.

She nodded and left the room.

From down at the nurse's station the charge nurse asked if she was going home. She came up with the only reason why she would still have to stick around.

"I'm too keyed up still, too far past my bedtime to be sleepy anymore. I'm gonna restock the rooms, that okay with you?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She grabbed the nearest supply cart and made her way to the supply room, grabbing items at random and placing them on top of the other supplies.

The fact that she said she was restocking led her to actually have to do it to all the rooms before Peter Hale's, she did it as fast as she could and ignored any patient that woke up and blearily asked her what she was doing.

Finally she all but flew into the room, dragging the cart with her. Her panic hormones surged, fight or flight response almost took over but she let the urge pass without unthoughtful action as she pushed the cart into the circle the tracks on the ceiling for the privacy curtains made around the bed.

He watched her.

"Duck under the curtain."

He did and she pulled both ends closed so anyone walking by wouldn't see him. If someone were to look they'd assume she was doing a change of Mr. Hale's incontinence brief.

"Is that everything you need?"

She looked at the cart and nodded.

"You didn't tell anyone."

It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"I didn't want to find out what would happen if I did."

His grin was small and pained, "Smart."

"You going to kill me?"

"I haven't killed anyone in my life. But, no. Wasn't planning on it."

"Would you have killed him if I had called the police like I should still do?"

"No."

They lapsed into silence.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm hurt. I can't go to a hospital and this place isn't that hard to get into in the middle of the night."

"You've done it before?"

"I like to visit him when I have spare time, not always during visiting hours."

He suddenly seemed irritated with her questions and gripped the chair's arms with unnecessary force that blanched not only his finger but his hands too.

"We done with the third degree or do you have more questions?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you can," he reached for the hem of his bloody shirt and lifted it high enough for her to see the wound.

Large and unsightly, not bleeding too profusely, but still gruesome. Too large for a bullet wound but she couldn't think of what else could have done it. The smell reached her, after it wafted through the air.

It had to be infected to smell like that, it took days for a wound to infect like that. She hated to think of how long he'd had it.

She pulled the cart over and yanked on a pair gloves from her pocket. After a moment she thought to drag over the other chair.

He was silent as she cleaned it with sterile water and then an obscene amount of alcohol swabs that were too tiny to do much good unless she used the whole box, which she almost had to.

She didn't ask how he got the wound and he didn't offer an explanation.

While she worked she expected him to at least say something, but there was nothing except the off and on stoic grimace he gave at the sting the alcohol caused or if she pressed to hard.

She placed an abdominal dressing in place after using a liberal amount of vitamin A and D ointment and wrapped gauze around his torso to keep it in place.

"You have an infection."

"Fix it."

She left to steal the extra blister pack of amoxicillin from the drug cart upon seeing the charge nurse's absence at the nurse's station and the hallway empty of aides. When she returned he had let his shirt slide back into place, the bulky dressing visible through the fabric.

"Are you allergic to penicillin?"

"No."

She handed him the small blister pack.

"Twice a day, for the next two weeks, as I nurse I am legally bound to tell you that you should seek professional medical help as soon as possible."

He smiled like something was funny but his laugh was dry and humorless.

"Aren't you supposed to be a nurse or something?"

Her eyes narrowed at the offhand insult to her level of competence.

"I am, but a doctor should be the one prescribing meds, if I did this in any other situation I'd probably lose my license, but the fact that you're a wanted criminal I can claim I did it under duress."

"I never threatened you."

"Irrelevant."

She waved a hand is dismissal of the fact.

He stood from the chair.

She back out of the curtain.

He came out of the curtain.

She had the room's wardrobe at her back.

He walked forward.

She thought very hard very fast.

He cornered her against the wardrobe.

She stabbed him above the dressing with the syringe she hadn't needed to use on a previous patient during the last shift's med pass.

He looked down but didn't move.

She felt her nails dig into the palm of her other hand tight enough to hurt even through the panic.

"That's a syringe filled with rapid acting insulin for the diabetic patient next door. The needle on this is the right length for her because she's three-hundred and fifty pounds but on you it's too long," she licked her lips and tried to swallow but her throat and mouth had gone dry. Fight or flight response again.

He stood still.

"Right now it's just about in your liver. If I were to press down on the plunger within five minutes your blood sugar would drop to about seven and in an effort to prevent brain death your body would send all available remaining glucose to your brain, sending you into multiple organ failure."

She let the information sink in and then went on.

"This is called insulin shock, most likely you will develop a cardiac dysrhythmia and then you will go into V Tach, and unless someone calls a code you'll die, or suffer from brain death as your body uses up the last of its energy sources."

He glared at her and the sound of his nails against the wardrobe were deafening in the silence of the room.

"I want you to listen carefully, if you try to pull away before I say I will inject you, if you touch the hand holding the syringe I will inject you, if you try to cause me physical harm I will inject you. If I tell you to pull away and you decide to trick me and lunge when you think I'm off balance you should know that there are other places on your body that I can inject insulin into and you can guard your abdomen all you want but you can't guard the eight other spots at the same time."

He seemed to measure his odds in the moments after she told him.

"If you did that I'd inject you and _not _call a code. Do you understand?

He nodded but said nothing.

"First I'm going to pat down your pockets. To make sure you don't have any weapons and then I'm going to lift up the bottom of your shirt and make sure there's nothing in your waistband."

She did as she told him she would her mind running as fast as her blood was.

He seemed amused by the whole thing as she fumbled to lift the back of his shirt and splayed her fingertips against his lower back finding nothing there like a gun or a knife, just the heat of his skin under her gloved fingertips.

His amusement most likely due to the fact that she was short and had to bend her knees to do it without being forced to lean forward or break eye contact.

"Slowly step back and go around to the door."

He stepped back and removed himself from the syringe. She brandished it like a knife and stalked to his back.

"I am going to call the police," she informed him. His shoulders stiffened and for a second her heart skipped thinking he would spin and lunge at her.

"_First_ you are going to leave. Out the door, down the stairs, out the door to the parking lot. No one is in the hallway. You go first, if you try something I will inject you. Go now," she commanded.

He obeyed.

She followed him out the stairway door, when she stood a stair above him he turned and studied her for a long moment.

"Thank you," he told her popping a pill from the blister pack and swallowing it dry. She watched his throat bob and was struck by the idea that if he was a psycho killer that it was good she hadn't mentioned him as Mr. Nice Ass to Molly otherwise future conversations regarding him would have been extremely awkward.

"If it turns out your innocent, I'm sorry about this, really," she meant it because he was good looking more than the fact that he would be a human being accused of crimes he hadn't committed.

"But I have patients and right now you're a threat to their safety. If you really are a crazy psycho killer then, thanks for not doing something stupid like trying to kill me or your uncle because I really like having him as a patient," she rambled adding when she suddenly remembered, "And not killing me because I like not dying in a horrible way like the utility guy at the campgrounds and having someone find my mutilated body like I found the utility guy's."

She shut up when she realized her supposed to be quick add-on turned into another rambling bout of inane nervous chattering.

He looked at her hand then, the one not holding the syringe. The one she had clenched tight enough to leave tiny crescents from her nails in the palm with while he'd backed her into the wardrobe.

His body was half in and half out of the stairway door.

"You were lying about the syringe. It's not insulin."

He stated. Not a question.

It wasn't an insulin syringe, heparin, pretty harmless since it was a small dose.

Fight or flight. She threw herself forward, dropping the syringe and used all her weight to push him out the door and then reach and slam it shut.

"And this door locks from the inside crazy psycho killer suspect." There was an inhuman growl and then the door jolted as soon as she finished saying it.

She sat on the carpeted space in front of the door willing her heart not to explode. Adrenaline streamlined to her limbs as she tore up the stairs and yelled down the hall for someone to call the police.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 42:<strong>

The ensuing controlled chaos over the following hours was expected.

As it turned out she was not the one to alert the authorities, Jennifer had called, of all people. She had seen his distinctive car in the back of the parking lot and called the police suspecting he was in the facility. But by the time she had walked back inside the building Derek Hale was already leaving from the emergency exit in the stairwell.

Lucette decided to shred the complaint she'd written out when she got home as a professional courtesy.

The Sheriff recognized her while a different detective, one who looked more like her original mental image of a detective prior to her meeting with the portly Detective Mills, questioned her and took her statement.

"Miss Bramble?"

"Sheriff Stilinski."

He gave her a brief once over, more speculative than one belaying sexual interest in her and considered her for a moment tilting his head from side to side as if measuring his response before he said it.

"Well, you did say you were a nurse."

She laughed, tired and affirming the humor in the light joke.

The suited detective regained her attention looking waspish and irritated; she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd snapped at her to get her attention.

After the questions, she excused herself under the pretense of checking on Mr. Hale to see if he was asleep yet. It was one in the morning and she was supposed to start her shift at eight and now that she planned on shredding the complaint against Jennifer the whole venture seemed meaningless in retrospect.

As she took off in the direction of the room she realized that she in fact had no interest in going back into the room. She waved off the idea and turned on her heel almost running down the redhead in the process.

"You're clumsy when you're tired, go home get some sleep," the lower licensed nurse told her without any actual concern in her voice for said clumsy woman.

Lucette righted herself much as Jennifer did in an odd mirror of movement that was involuntary after the almost collision.

In the process the redhead displaced a piece of paper from her pocket and as she brushed by seemed to not notice its absence.

Picking it up and jogging a few steps to catch up with the redhead, Lucette bumped her hip against hers and a single dose 'Epi-Pen' fell to the floor.

Jennifer stopped mid step and looked down at the item that had fallen from her uniform pocket and rolled a few inches before stopping.

Bending to scoop up the item Lucette saw the bleed of permanent marker cross-outs through the folded piece of paper the other nurse had also dropped that she had caught up with her to return.

She handed her the items with a mumbled apology. "You dropped this. Sorry I didn't mean to bump into you…again," she rubbed the back of her neck and tried to ease the ache from it.

Holding up the returned medication pen, the redhead looked oddly wide-eyed for a moment. It caught Lucette off guard.

"I'm allergic to peanuts."

"Oh, well. Good to have it, just in case right," the brunette offered lamely unsure of why the other woman felt the need to explain.

"Thanks."

"See you, tomorrow."

They parted and Lucette found herself suddenly accosted by the charge nurse.

"Are you alright?"

Reeling she wondered if she looked like she wasn't.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I guess. Should I not feel fine? I don't know. The whole thing has me a little freaked out," Lucette admitted.

With a pursed mouth and a worn out expression the older woman informed her that she'd have to fill out an incident report before she left to go home.

She followed the other nurse to the smaller conference room with a groan and filled out the necessary paperwork until three in the morning, when she returned the forms to the charge nurse the detective told her that he needed to go over some more things with her.

By four-thirty in the morning she was running on coffee fumes and stood outside to chain smoke three cigarettes before having to go in and talk to the agency rep for her company that had just arrived and fill out more useless papers.

By six in the morning she was stretched out in the visitors lounge catching an hour of sleep on the orders of the nurse practitioner who caught one look at her and all but shoved her into the empty room before having the alarm on her cellphone go off waking her up to realize that she felt worse than when she had closed her eyes.

By seven fifteen in the morning she had collected her things and made her way to the car to run home, shower, and change into her spare uniform.

By seven twenty she cried in frustration and jumped up and down three times pleading up to the sky, 'why me, not now,' at the sight of the two slashed tires making her truck tilt unevenly to the right.

By seven twenty-five she had a witness to her desperation.

"I'll call you a tow, and give you a ride home."

She turned and face the Sheriff with a look of a woman walking to her own execution and trudged passed with a hand waving in the direction of her vehicle.

"No point my shift starts in twenty minutes, I'll borrow a set of scrubs and shower here. I really should have kept my big mouth shut after I pushed him out the door."

Catching up with her the Sheriff turned her with a firm hand and told her he could tell her boss they needed her for more questions so she'd have time to run home and get some sleep and come into work later.

She thanked him but refused with a red blotchy wet cheeked expression of absolute exhaustion.

"Fucking asshole, if you catch him you better let me key his fucking car. I swear!" Coughing wetly she bit her lip and pouted like a child.

They walked back inside and after a lukewarm shower in the employee locker room she dressed stiffly and in a sleep-deprived haze.

Trish who had just come on shift look her over and pointed her in the direction of the visitor's lounge with an unspoken command and the affirmation that she would wake her at one and buy her lunch.

Lucette sniffled, her face still feeling congested from her angry crying spell. She professed a weak declaration of love and thanks to the morning charge nurse and teetered off to the small couch in the lounge to fall into blissful oblivious sleep.

The television woke her up at eleven when someone turned it on without realizing that she was sleeping and cranked the volume up to a level that could blow up someone's brain.

Still tried and grumpy at being woken in such an unwelcomed fashion made her send a glare in the direction of the aide responsible.

"Sorry, shit, Lucette. You looked like one of the resident docs without your uniform. I should have remembered you were the one taking a nap. Sorry, my bad."

The aide lowered the volume and went to leave; Lucette stopped them with a mumbled response that she didn't even understand herself.

The news was on and she found herself tracking the movement of the waving reporter's arms blearily coming out of her post-nap daze.

A state wide man-hunt was underway for Derek Hale after he was found inside the highschool late that night, and a local teacher was under protective custody following the event.

There was no mention of the nursing home break-in but she surmised that the police were under pressure not to release that bit of information in order to avoid public panic at the notion that even medical facilities had lackluster security measures in place.

"It's crazy huh?"

Lucette realized the aide had not been told about what had occurred on the previous shift, probably no one knew besides Trish and herself.

Shaking her head to clear her mind she replied, "Yeah, wild. For sure."

"I mean, like really, just wow! Who would have guessed he'd be a killer. I guess you never know what goes on behind a pretty face."

She rolled her eyes when the aide looked away to stare at the screen.

"I guess even guys with great asses are capable of savage murder sprees."

The aide laughed and Lucette grimaced, flopping back into the couch her knees pointed up at the ceiling arms pillowing her head.

"I think I'm going to get up."

The aide looked shocked at the off handed remark.

"You can't."

Opening her eyes Lucette gave her a stern look as if to say, 'just watch me.'

"No, I mean Trish said that if we see you on the unit before one she was going to skin us. So just stay in here okay. Pretend to sleep, shit I'm sorry I woke you. Don't tell Trish."

Smiling at the idea Lucette yawned and told the aide she would promise to stay in the room if she brought her a pillow from the linen rack on the unit.

The aide brought back two and a blanket. For good measure the aide taped a sign up to cover the glass window on the door that said: Meeting in progress. DO NOT DISTURB. –Unit Management.

Lucette felt like she would have wept in gratitude if she hadn't still been so tired.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yes the woman and the son in the grocery store are Scott and his mother, Melissa. The info on California gun laws is correct to my knowledge but if it isn't let me know. The reference about Dean and Frank is obviously Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. The info on insulin is true, heparin is an anticoagulant. Deaconate injections are injections that are administered into large muscles to be absorbed more slowly over a longer period of time than an intravenous injection. The note that falls out of Jennifer's pocket is a copy of the one Derek has and leaves on the chemistry teacher's desk. Derek's wound is the one he received before the start of night school the reason he still has it is because I figure it's hard to heal right away from being skewered on someone's arm and then having to run from the cops day and night.


	4. The Palliated

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are a some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **This whole chapter takes place over the course of episode nine before the point of the events in the long term care facility with Stiles and Derek.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 43:<strong>

The moment she pulled into her driveway she dreaded to go inside and see the mess she knew instinctively that would be waiting for her after leaving the dog to his own devices without having been for a walk in over a day.

Sighing in relief that he had at least contained his bodily urges to the throw rug at the bottom of the stairs she set to work with a scrub brush and a bucket of ammonia water that made the entire house reek before she was even halfway finished.

She took him for a late walk, staying to Main Street and avoiding the woods like the plague, unable to even contemplate what level of bad luck she may sink into if she ventured in so late at night.

The smell of the chemical remained when she woke up after sleeping from ten to four, the sky outside was still dark with no threads of dawn weaving into the starless spread of 'too early to be awake' morning. She was still wearing hospital scrubs and her hair was a sweaty mess of old hairspray and the fibers of the couch pillow she had slept on.

Her shower was scalding but she braved the spray and spit water out after she caught herself yawning too widely every few moments, her body refusing to wake up properly after going through so much in such a short span of time.

If it hadn't been four in the morning she would have called everyone she knew and related her misadventures with the on the run, wanted for murder firm bottomed man, one Mister Derek Hale, but even though the news was exciting and thrilling no one wanted a phone call at that early unless someone had died.

Nobody cared if you had _almost _died because if you called at four in the morning and _were_ alive they_ would_ kill you.

After coffee and blowing her hair dry she lit a cigarette and did some dishes until the sky lightened as five rolled around.

The dog got another walk, she got ready for work, and the blanketed dark sky turned the pink and orange jubilee of sunrise.

She sighed around a mouthful of waffle.

Life went on.

At seven the phone rang as she was wiping down her kitchen counter.

"Hello?" Her Caller ID said it was work calling.

"Lucette?"

She knew the voice and pushed in a kitchen chair.

"Hey, Trish?" She made it a question in case it wasn't who she thought it was calling.

"Yeah," there was a short pause as the other woman yelled something to someone in the background of the call.

Trish went on, "I know this is short notice but can you work the eight to eight night shift today?"

Confused the younger woman paused with a hand still on top of the chair she was pushing in, turning to look out her backdoor at the damp planks of her back patio.

"You do realize I'm actually supposed to be at work in less than an hour right?"

Trish made a sound like a sigh but over the phone the other woman couldn't be sure.

"Short notice, the night charge asked me to call and see if you could cover for the unit for her shift because she had a family emergency."

"You know you shouldn't be asking me this, right?"

She didn't work for the facility, she worked for her agency and technically there were was a policy protecting her from the backlash of refusing to take on an extra shift or a different one at the request of the facility, doing things like that was therefore not really something her agency recommended.

But if they needed her to change shifts, she would. Just the once, and only because they really needed it.

"I know. I know, I wouldn't call but the other charge nurse, Bette, can watch your nurses in the morning but she can't do a night shift because she has school. I'm in a jam here."

Lucette weighed her options and leaned into the pushed in chair mulling things over for a moment, "Okay, fine. Just tell my team I'm on call if they need me. I'll come in if they have a problem."

She didn't want to leave her team to deal with a charge nurse that may be a complete bitch; she'd rather they handled themselves.

"Thank you so, so, so much, hun," the older nurse expressed her gratitude, it sounded sincere.

"No, it's alright I owe you one for yesterday after all that drama," Lucette confirmed thinking about what had happened again in Peter Hale's room.

Trish shushed her, "You don't owe me; I'll totally owe you for this though. Lunch one day when we have off, in town. At a place with real waiters and fancy napkins folded into cute animal shapes."

The younger nurse smiled and pushed away from the chair to pour a cup of coffee and perch herself on the countertop.

"You tricky girl, trying to win me over with food and fancy napkins?" She punctuated the sentence by slurping her coffee loudly sure to be heard over the phone line.

"There's no 'try' about it," Trish's tone suggested pomp and ego.

Swallowing and laughing a little she answered, "Damn right, you had me at 'food.' I'll be in at eight tonight."

"Thanks again."

"No problem. Bye."

"See you later."

After ending the call she stared at the receiver in her lax grip. For an intermittent period of time she yelled at it loudly with sounds she ripped from her throat.

Her arm tightened, she forced it to relax and then took a calming breath that was supposed to help ease her stress.

It didn't. She placed the phone in its cradle charger mounted on the wall and looked around the kitchen.

In the end she went back to the first viable option she had come up with, the _only _viable option in fact since she couldn't break things she didn't own.

She took the glass braising pan from her oven that had cost thirty dollars and dropped it, simply and without flair, onto the kitchen floor and then she left room to change her clothes, glass crunching under the soles of her white leather orthopedic nursing shoes.

Flinging them into the bedroom wall, once, twice she felt no better.

Her gym clothes lay in a bag, forgotten for a week on the chair reserved for clothes she had folded but forgotten to put in their rightful drawer space.

When she tightened the pull string on her sweatpants she took notice of the dull ache in her hips that came when the air pressure changed to mean rain was coming. She slid her thumbs over the old scars and then tied a bow in the drawstring to keep her pants up.

The tank top was loose and stretched out, her zip-up too short for it to cover the white ribbed cotton but she didn't bother to care about length or color coordination, just put her hair in a braid and slipped into her sneakers.

She didn't bother with the leash, she knew the large animal that had watched her curiously since her lapse in sanity and destructive cooking wares kitchen incident wanted to run, she couldn't sprint for a long time but she was climbing up a wall inside the house she was likely to destroy unless she bid it adieu for a few hours.

People were just starting to get up and go about their business, cars drove by and people jogged passed her with smug smiles at being faster than a lowly walker until she started running and passed them just barely keeping from raising a finger as she did it.

She wasn't a show-off but she hated cocky condescending jogger people about as much a she hated people on bicycles that didn't stay on the shoulder of the road when she was driving.

After twenty minutes of her impression of a gazelle about to get it's ass eaten out by a lion she started to think she should stop before her heart exploded at the major arteries and take deeper breaths as the inside of her face started to feel sharp around the sinuses.

Her lungs were rubbing against the inside of her chest, pleural friction rub, she knew the feel, sharp inspiratory pain, textbook, really, she kept up but slowing to a run.

Her hip throbbed, it felt like it had expanded out of its socket, every smack of her shoe sent a shock up her leg, she'd have to limp home later, maybe drag herself by her arms if it was worse than she thought.

Her head felt like it was filled with glass and angry hornets, the bleariness in her eyes was starting run across her vision thickly.

Her throat felt like she'd open it and swallowed her hair dryer while it was on.

The park grounds weren't technically the woods, the trees were barely considered clustered. She slowed to a brisk jog and then with an irritated throat hurting grunt thought 'fuck it.'

If her bad luck wanted to get worse because she was running in the woods then it would, she wanted to run in the woods, so she did.

The wilderness path was a small foot wide four mile long grey gravel track that shifted under her heels with every heavy stomp displacing the little stones.

The dog kept up. At a signpost declaring a ranger station nearby she sat on the decorative log bench and wiggled her toes experimentally inside her shoes to make sure she still had them all.

Her shins and feet tingled something she knew meant her heart rate was too high, almost at its suggested maximum beats per minute number.

Brigadier sat and waited for her to catch her breath.

Slumping forward she wrestled in the gravel with the large animal. Finally sitting on the wiggling creature's back she declared, "Onward my faithful stead!" A finger poised in no particular direction of meaning as she shook out her clothing to remove wayward gravel bits.

The dog merely lay down and refused to accede with her order while every so often rocks tumbled along his coat and down back to the track.

Giving up she sprinted forward, almost tipping over from the throwing of all her body weight up and ahead, the toe of her following foot tapping the dog on top of the head and sparking his motivation to chase her and try to outrun her.

He did.

And within ten minutes of more paced sprints and slow ambling heart rate stabilizing strolls they had both lost interest in the activity. She adopted a limp the last mile of the trail and let herself fall onto a bench at the final wilderness station at the end of the trail.

There were a few joggers and the odd bicyclist that meandered through at odd intervals, she was happy it wasn't as uninhabited as she assumed it would be. It felt safer with people around while she rested.

The run back to town was worse despite it being more long walk punctuated by the every so often fifteen second sprint that eventually after the fourth made her vomit spewing the blackness of two cups of coffee intermingled with toast and waffle mush bits that left her mouth tasting foul and textured crunchy.

She felt better after she sniffed and spit the small mouthful that had gone through her nose; she could breathe easier without her stomach pressing up and making her lungs flair out too wide and rub against the inside of her diaphragm.

After that she stuck to walking or limping as her left hip joint protested movement in its inflamed and tender state.

The owner of the deli eyed her with a look reserved for unusual customers when she came in from across the street, he said nothing about the dog and she downed the water she bought on the spot at the counter and offered him the empty plastic container that he tossed it in the recycling bin behind the counter.

She decided that she was still thirsty and bought another, choosing to sip more thoughtfully than she had on her first bottle. Her total came up as two dollars and fifty cents.

"How many miles you do?"

Her appearance made it obvious what she'd been doing before she'd bought the water.

"Eight."

"Got me beat," the owner commented, tired and overworked from the morning breakfast rush.

"Trust me, it's overrated. Not worth it afterward."

It wasn't, she hurt everywhere. She doubted she could climb a set of stairs, at least not until she learned to walk on her hands.

She left and went home to clean up the mess she had made of her kitchen. It took her forty minutes until she was satisfied that she had gotten every last piece, it was dumb but she took a post run shower that was more thirty second rinse than thirty minute study in relaxation and hot water and walked barefoot across the linoleum, dragging her foot across a missed piece of thick glass and having to dig the painful shard out with nail clippers and a toothpick because she had misplaced her tweezers.

It was long and when she couldn't pull it out smoothly she sliced her already sore foot open with a box cutter, making the slice long so she could wiggle the glass splinter out from the gap in-between tissues rather than the tiny hole it had made as it dug it's way in.

Wrapping a dish towel over the sole of her foot and hopping through rooms into the bathroom she cleansed it by pouring alcohol over it in the tub and letting out a screech at the burn. After she bandaged it she wondered if her shoe would fit right when she slipped it on later since the bandage added some bulk to the bottom of her foot.

She'd rather a sore foot than the extra hour she would have spent in tears trying to yank the stupid thing out and risk breaking it into more pieces as she prodded and pulled with a nail clipper, but even after knowing she'd made the better choice she could have smacked herself because now she had a limp and a foot so sore it made her good steps dainty and bird-like.

Dry swallowing two aspirin and piling into bed with her equally drained dog she dozed wearily on and off for an hour and a half and finally napped for two more hours with her foot on a pillow. Sleeping on her back wasn't usually possible unless necessary, it was too uncomfortable, but her hips hurt too much to roll to either side and with her foot on a pillow sleeping prone felt equally awkward.

Her alarm rung and she got up to get her laundry together.

This time she went alone and did it without coming into contact with wanted men. The experience was dismal and it was only three in the afternoon when she left, basket on her hip and a jug of detergent heavy in her hand, forcing her steps to be normally spaced and evenly paced.

The prospect of everyone being awake by the time she got home lessened the sourness of her mood.

She tried to imagine the reactions, coming up after the ride home with a mix of awe and excitement and fear for her safety in her friend Molly's voice, lackluster delight in her father's, and the overwhelming enthusiasm and animation in her sister's.

She initiated the calls with a fresh cigarette in hand and dialed.

Her sister's knew it was her calling, "Luuuuucy, you got some _splainin_ to dooooo."

"Oh so you looked up the joke," she replied wincing at the high pitch of her sister's voice.

"Dude I had no idea the old lady was named Ethel. You have to call me Ethel from now on," Stella sounded beyond words in her excitement.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not calling me Lucy."

"Please."

"No."

"Pleeeease," her sister begged

"Noooooo," she answered with all the finality of an older sibling.

"I'm gonna hang up on you."

"No, you can't important shit going down over here that I have to tell you about."

"I know dad told me you found a dead body." She sounded bored.

"Bigger than that."

"You found two dead bodies?"

"No, shut up."

"Then talk."

"So you know how I have to do laundry at the laundromat right?" Lucette plunked down onto her couch and made herself comfortable.

"Yeah, so."

"Okay so the first week I got here I had to go do laundry and when I was there, there was this really good-looking guy."

"Was he still in highschool?"

Lucette scowled at the phone. "Stop interrupting, and no, he was not still in highschool. Asshole."

"Errrrr, could you just finish the damn story. I'm getting bored."

"Then shut up and I will."

"Fine. Talk," the younger woman commanded.

"So good looking guy, great ass. I had to leave for a second to go put the dog back in the truck because he was being bad, and then I decide to have a smoke."

"And then…,"

"Guy comes out asks me for a smoke, so we smoke."

"Uh-huh. Did you get his number?"

"No, we didn't talk. Not really."

"And this is amazing because he was good-looking or something?"

Not that she had never called her sister before for such a reason in the past.

"No, now at the place I work I have this patient right."

"Wow, a nurse with a patient, ground breaking. Earth shattering. You. Blow. My. Mind," it didn't sound like she had blown her mind.

"Brat. So I had to go and run an errand and on my way back to the unit I can't open the door because I'm carrying stuff and someone opens the door, and then I almost get run over by a hospital bed and I drop stuff and someone picks them up for me and it's the good-looking laundry guy."

"Still not exciting."

"Getting close to the exciting part. My patient is his uncle. So going forward to the night before this I had to go in and make sure this one nurse is doing her job right and while all this time has gone by on the news they've been covering the dead bodies and stuff and guess who they think did it?"

"Goodlooking guy?"

"Yep."

"And?"

"He broke into the nursing home while I was there and I had to patch up this big ass hole in his chest and then I stabbed him with a syringe and made him leave."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

"Woah, man that's like _insane_. How was his chest, good-looking?"

"I know, but don't go telling everyone. You can tell dad but I'm not supposed to talk to anyone about it. Yes, I think his chest was good-looking but I was more concerned with, you know, the whole wanted killer thing."

"Okay, that makes sense. Do you want me to tell dad?"

"He won't care."

"If the good-looking crazy man had killed you he would care."

"But he didn't."

"Because you're totally kick ass and stabbed him."

"Why thank you."

"No problem, did they catch him?"

"No."

"_No_?" There was the concern she was looking for, more exclamation than question coloring the word.

"Yeah, no. They're still looking."

"Um bitch, you better lock your doors."

"Yeah because crazy man knows where I live," she rolled her eyes.

"You never know."

"Highly unlikely. He's on the run and shit and he saw my dog at the laundry mat, you'd have to be dumb to mess with a big ass dog."

"That's true. You tell Molly?"

"I've got to call her next; actually I should do that now. I love you."

"Love ya too."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Following the call she promptly dialed again and relayed in a strikingly similar manner to her best friend the same story she had told her sister, fortunately the story was told without as many interruptions as the previous call. When she finished soothing the worries of whether her house would be found and she'd be a. murdered, b. raped, c. tortured, d. kidnapped, e. mutilated, f. eaten, or g. any combination of them that her best friend nearly drove herself into panic with, she made the promise to show up back home for a celebratory girls night out in celebration of her not dying in some horrible way.

Another hour had gone by and she tried to find a new way to kill time.

The news, not for a first time, failed to hold her rapt attention despite the fact that she should have a vested interest in it.

The dishes were already done.

The muscles in her legs already sang out in desperate agony and cramps from her run.

The dog had been walked.

The obligatory informing of family and friends about how she had avoided being possibly murdered had been completed.

The urge to break things had passed.

Something she hadn't done sprang to mind but making the bed took less time than she had originally thought. She eyed her bed and mused on if she had the stamina to masturbate for three hours straight; she waved off the idea because her libido had been stunted by exhaustion and fear during the past few days.

She tried to remember when the last time she'd gotten off was, surprising herself that at least a week had gone by, such a thing happened rarely. She may be single but she wasn't menopausal and she had a rich fantasy life.

"I'm getting old, and I'm not as horny as I used to be, the world is ending," she explained to her dog. "Maybe I should let you go out and impregnate something, Brigs. Get it in while you're still young, I'd love to have a new puppy to replace you and then sell the rest."

She grinned at the animal. "Just kidding!" She yelled happily, ruffling his coat.

"I would never sell your puppies. If you could have any," she suddenly remembered that Brigadier was fixed.

"Cut nuts!" Her dog responded by barking enthusiastically at her exclamation.

"Well I guess that's good, I don't want to be a grandma, Brigs. Before you know it you'd be tanning and nailing skanky poodles and thinking of moving to Florida," she thought of how fatherhood had become for her own dad once she and her sister got old enough to take care of themselves.

Less midlife crisis and more reclaiming his lost youth.

"You'd be barking at every bitch in the barnyard, Brigs, _if_ you had balls."

She picked up her wayward running shoe and let him use it as a chew toy as she pulled from the other end and amused herself by growling back at the large animal.

"If we were a superhero duo I'd call you Brigs the busted nut dog. Cause you have busted nuts. Get it?"

"What would my name be? Any suggestions? I don't know any puns that work with my name and a screwed up female reproductive system, give me some time to think up something suitable, okay?"

She relinquished the shoe and let him go to town on it with his teeth. He wouldn't chew it up too bad; she'd still be able to wear it again.

And then after eyeing her uniform on the chair she had laid it across after she'd decided on a run she found a task that needing completion.

Ironing wasn't the most enjoyable chore but it was something she could divert her attention to while at the very least she thought up something else to spend her three hours of free time doing, while she set up the board and waited for the iron to get hot she channel surfed idly.

It struck her as she tapped the iron to tell if it was hot that she had in fact forgotten something when she'd gone grocery shopping, starch. It didn't make a difference but she wrote a not to herself on the 'to-do' paper pad hanging on her refrigerator door.

The television caught her attention as mixed martial artists squared off half naked and sweaty on an alternative sports channel she'd stopped at to leave the room and write down the reminder about laundry starch.

Normally she didn't bother enough to become a regular watcher of the reality series and specials pertaining to the art of men beating each other bloody but there was something about it that enticed her to watch.

The men fighting were middleweights which in her own opinion put on the best show, the featherweights and lightweights weren't usual as visually appealing with their smaller frames and slimness, the bigger men of the heavy and welter weight divisions were either too close to being husky to catch her attention or only focused on floor work which was more wrestling and less fight and made her sigh in boredom.

The middleweights were muscled to perfection and stayed on their feet more than half the match to punch and kick and shove and throw their opponents down.

She said welcome back to her libido during the first two minutes of the fight.

Before the five minute round was over one man was bloody faced and the other swollen lipped. She finished ironing and unplugged the bulky appliance, letting it cool next to her uniform still lain across the board.

She rethought the idea of how long she could go stamina wise, but nixed the idea on the grounds that her legs still felt like someone had smacked them incessantly with a golf club.

Watching the fights for three hours was no arduous task, she settled in with snacks and a pillow and studied the sounds an abdomen made when struck by someone's fist or the reverberation of the floor inside the ring as someone was lifted and dropped onto it.

She got dressed for work transfixed at the way they cleaned up one man's bloody face and smeared petroleum jelly over his cut eyebrow. Turning off the television and fitting her bandaged foot in its shoe she bent patting her dog and told him not to make a mess on the rug again.

Grabbing her keys she left for work gingerly maneuvering her sore legs into the space below her seat, turning the radio up and rolling the windows down, her hair an immovable fixture even in the lashing wind as she pulled out from driveway and onto the road.

It was instinctive to drive around the lot before parking; she looked carefully at every black car, and then drove behind the building to see if anyone had parked behind a dumpster or something. There was no black Camaro. It soothed her nerves, even though she knew that if he did come back that he wouldn't be stupid enough to leave his car in plain sight.

Parking in the exact same spot she had when she had come out to find her tires slashed gave her the feel of saying 'go screw yourself, crazy psycho killer,' it was almost as good as keying his car would be, if the Sheriff actual let her do it.

Going inside she greeted her nursing team and asked if they had all finished their duties, there were a few minutes left in their shift and she called them all over for a quick post-conference and received their assessments.

"Any problems?" She turned up her head and glanced at each of the four in turn.

They had nothing to report besides the usual.

She made rounds at the beginning of her shift and the end of theirs to make sure they hadn't accidentally killed anyone.

Mrs. Jenson was awake, pleasant, and still very fat. She had received her insulin and was on her second chocolate pudding, she seem happy and content and didn't need any other care, going on at length to say that the only male team member Lucette was in charge of was rather handsome, he wasn't but neither was Mrs. Jensen.

Mr. Baegi needed suctioning and she donned gloves to go about the sterile procedure with precision and ease. She found a small problem with his electronic feeding pump and went about correcting it, explaining to the small old man that it was just because there was too much air in the line. He responded by informing her that too much air in the line gave him awful gas. She nodded sympathetically and left the room as his flatulence made itself known by sound and scent.

Mrs. Whit's oxygen was set at the level she told her team to keep it at, she administered a as needed nebulizer treatment of albuterol and left the room to let them woman breath it in for the twenty minutes it took to finish the dose.

Mrs. Doyle needed to have a pulse oximetry reading done; she came in at a fantastic ninety-eight percent after Lucette clipped the reader to her finger and waited for a few seconds. Her glucose read at a nice, stable one-seventeen.

Mr. Garsine smiled and whistled at her, full of energy and trying desperately to get her to play cards with him or at least she assumed that was what he was asking but since she couldn't speak Italian she found the language barrier overriding his energetic miming. He motioned for her to do a turn and spin for him; she scolded him but did it and received another whistle as she shook her hips on her way out.

Mrs. Marsdale was out for the night after her meds from the prior shift kicked in. She closed the door and made a point to tell the woman's aide to let her sleep.

Finally at the end of the hall she went in to see Mr. Hale. She surveyed his intravenous line and his tube feeding, his gastrostomy tube was the way it should be, there were no signs of a leak or a need for a replacement tube to be inserted.

She knew he'd received care but it wasn't as good as the type he would have gotten if she'd been there to do it. His hair looked greasy and he needed a shave, his brief was clean. She laid out his personal basin and care items without hesitation.

It took her some time to realize that she was supposed to be acting as a unit charge nurse instead of the leader of her team. She went in search of Jennifer.

The other nurse wasn't hard to find.

Standing at the medication cart the redhead seemed irritated or preoccupied.

"Hey, Jennifer can you do care on Mr. Hale, since you're free right now."

"His aide should be in soon. She must be late."

The flippant response coupled with the other nurse's lack of eye contact when she said it made her level of tolerance for nurses who found basic comfort care something reserved for aide come to its limits.

"He kind of needs it done now."

"I'm busy right now."

Lucette could have yanked the other woman's ponytail out of her head. She'd been an aide and knew what they thought of nurses that couldn't be bothered to do basic care. The response she threw back made the redhead look up with fury in her eyes.

"Do you not know how to do anything besides a med pass," she made her tone sickly sweet and condescending.

"Of course I know how." She gripped the pen she'd been tapping harshly and glared, her face going a shade darker.

"Well, never mind I'll just do it myself then," the brunette smiled and in passing told an aide to go and cover the desk for her while she did care on Mr. Hale.

The aide looked baffled, no doubt confused as to why she'd been promoted to secretary instead of being told to toilet someone.

Lucette knew the redhead had heard and she also knew that she was furious; all she could think was 'good.'

The room was as she had left it and she checked behind the curtains and every piece of furniture and then inside the wardrobe, satisfied when everything inch had received a looking over that she and Mr. Hale were the only ones in the room.

She ran the water until it got as hot as it could, it was never quite hot enough for a patient to enjoy and set the basin on the overbed table. Treating his limbs with care she removed his arms from the sleeves and tucked a towel around his bedding to keep it dry.

His chest was scared pink and marbled into burn patterns, wringing out the washcloth she swept it across his chest and then using a single use gauze wiped secretions from around his gastrostomy tubing and tossed the small square into the trash can she had pulled closer to the bed.

Patting him dry and removing the gown all the way she repeated the same gentle cleansing on each arm and tucked in the bedding to keep him warm when she had finished.

She massaged his calves and examined the color and texture of his skin, there were no sign of vascular issue, his toes and feet were warm.

It felt like a ritual, it reminded her of how queens would wash the feet of peasants once when there were still queens and peasants, as she applied lotion to her hands and went about the care regimen.

After putting a pair of socks in place she looked for a pair of suitable pajamas and maneuvered them over his feet and then rolled him to get them up past his thighs and over his hips.

The shirt was a great deal easier to get into place.

Washing the lotion from her hands and rinsing out the basin she came back to the bed, raising it with a remote she studied his face and found nothing in it belaying recognition or imploration.

The marbled effect of the scars suddenly looked sinister in the dim light, but the effect was lost as she shifted her eyes and all too suddenly Mr. Hale looked to be the same dejected and hopeless patient he had been when she'd come in.

In the small room the sound the can of shaving cream made when she pressed a finger into the depressible spot behind the nozzle was a harsh hiss, it sounded too loud, out of place and awkward.

His scar tissue made it so she only had to shave half of his face, as she did it she felt like she was completing every task in an odd trance, an effect of having done care so many times before.

She couldn't exactly brush his teeth since he was at risk for aspiration and NPO but she used the toothette to moisten his gums and tongue. Drool escaped the corner of his mouth and she wiped it away with the back of her ungloved hand unbothered by saliva or any body fluid anymore.

Cleaning people's teeth most days she had learned that no one had exactly the same mouth. She didn't think she'd ever seen canines like his before, perfect little points, textbook. Her dog didn't even have perfectly formed canines like that.

She grinned and pointed at her own and the fact that only one was actually pointed, and that it had only come because she'd chipped part of it on a rock when she was little, she told him the story, he listened, or didn't, she couldn't tell.

Once she had finished with his teeth she placed a comb in the basin and soaked it while placing a towel behind his head and neck over his pillow.

The brush was in her hand and poised when she felt her shoulder smack into the side rail while she maneuvered her arm into place to comb his hair.

She thought it was the side rail until something cupped her shoulder and clenched down, fingers and then nails, she felt his fingernails through the fabric of her uniform.

It surprised her but she remembered the stories of the other nurses who jumped and slipped and smacked their heads on furniture. She tried to relax her arm, but her grip went steely on the comb in her palm.

Her heart beat fast, faster than it had the last time she'd been in the room, with a man who was a probable maniac killer, she'd always felt her heartbeat more poignantly when she was anxious, fear made her aware of her heartbeat but panic made her unable to keep up with it, she'd felt fear the last time but now it was panic seeping out from her bones.

"Mr. Hale?"

His head turned his gaze no longer blank and unaware. He yanked and her shoulder felt like it had been hit with a hammer.

The rest was just too unbelievable for her too stop, disbelief and the want to see what he was going to do next as his mouth came down into the soft pit of her elbow, as teeth minced skin and blood bubbled from around the suction of his chapped lips.

Regaining the use of her brain as she realized he had bit her she yanked her body back and felt hot knives cut across her scapula and down her deltoid, driving deep into the muscle.

Wrenching her body to the foot of the bed she tore her arm from his hand and mouth.

It took her the span of a gasp and a gurgled expletive to study what was hanging off his chin from his teeth, a chunk taken right out of her.

He grinned at her all bloody mouth and inhuman teeth and waved with the hand splayed over the side rail. She could do nothing but stare at his hand, as inhuman as his mouth, larger and with nails so long they curved like something on a bird's claw might have.

Later she wouldn't remember pulling the emergency cord on the wall that relayed a signal to the light outside the door and turned it the red with the warning that someone had just fallen or was injured.

The door flew open so fast she had no time to turn her face. The force split her lip and cut open the space above her brow, her skull cracked off the floor.

An impression of radiating head pain was all she got before her vision cleared and then for only a brief moment before her hands tingled, fingers first, then palm and finally it felt like she had lost them somehow, her hearing was like someone kept lowering the volume of everything around her under finally it went mute.

It felt like she was opening her mouth, more like she couldn't hold it closed and then it was like she was missing half of her face, as if her jaw had evaporated.

Everything was heavy, but she felt motion. Moving, being moved. Her thoughts melted and she remembered nothing else when asked about what happened later.

**Day 44:**

It turned out her stroked out immobile docile patient had almost succeeded in ripping out her brachial artery, the fact that he bit her and had teeth confirmed and explained the mess of her arm neatly and nicely. The explanation about her shoulder and the state of disarray it was in was not as neatly explained.

The emergency department doctor explained to her that at times a person's fingers can stiffen themselves to the point where they are able to rend tissue apart, something about blunt force almost being able to just 'pop' the skin open, like a piece of fruit that hits the ground and splits open.

It wasn't as if she couldn't believe it, but she'd been there, had had it happen to her, watching it happen. She'd seen his hand and the way he looked with that happy bloody mouth.

Blood loss may have made her mind hazy but the image was there, scorched behind her eyes and maybe it was that the infusion of two units of AB positive hadn't exactly finished and been assimilated into her body well enough to make her mind sharp again, but she knew what his mouth and hand had looked like to her in those moments.

Vaguely she can remember later that a resident does the stitches in her shoulder, but she only needs them at the deepest part so it's a shoddy, incomplete botch job she decides after she checks it in a mirror when he leaves, the resident was nervous and she was impatient so it doesn't take her long to consider that maybe he's doing the best he can and even though she hasn't spoken a word she's still acting like a bitch.

Lucette remembers asking the nervous guy, hardly older than her but too skinny and too exotic in his small features if her infusion is done, because her head is still too heavy to turn where she wants it to.

When he tells her it is she asks for a robe because her uniform looks gruesome and they didn't bother to do more than cut it half open to get at her shoulder, it upsets her because it had been overpriced and now she only has her spare and she'll have to get another one, he all but runs to get the robe, in his drive to be fast about the task she wonders if the linen cart looks like a hurricane hit it.

The nurses will be pissed but she can't bring herself to care since she's not the one looking for it.

After she puts it on she informs the resident doctor that she wants a cigarette. He tells her that she really should stay in the bed and that she can't have a cigarette. Finding her bag she bluffs that unless he finds a wheelchair and brings her outside that she might not care that it's the emergency department and smoke right in her hospital bed using an emesis basin as an ashtray.

He relents and waves his arms and rushes off to find a wheelchair, if he had been a nurse he would have told her to go ahead and try to smoke in the ED and then taken her cigarettes away, it isn't as if she could have put up a fight for them.

It's dark outside; she asks what time it is. It's two in the morning. She puffs away quietly in the patient garden, offering the resident a smoke that he doesn't accept because he doesn't smoke. Suddenly the cigarette feels like a chore.

She's been back in her bed for less than an hour when a nurse bustles in and tinkers with the intravenous port in her arm informing her that she's got to set up a liter of normal saline and do a piggyback of antibiotics. The tired nurse asks her routine questions.

Is she allergic to penicillin? No.

Is she allergic to cephalosporins? No.

Is she pregnant? No.

Is she on a contraceptive pill? No.

And on until Lucette feels like the only word she has left in her vocabulary is 'no.'

The nurse does her job and leaves her alone in the small curtained off bed and Lucette sleeps until the beeping of the IV pump wakes her with its mechanical chime.

Pressing her call light she waits for someone to answer. When a different nurse comes back she asks what time it is and finds out she's only slept for an hour.

She asks if anyone's called down to the long term care facility yet. The nurse looks put out and shrugs as if to say 'how should I know,' Lucette picks up the bedside phone and dials the extension for the connected facility.

"Beacon Height's Long Term Care Facility, this is Angela."

It was the unit's nurse practitioner on the phone.

"It's Lucette."

"Hey, you're awake. How you feeling?"

"Awful, what's going on over there?"

"Good, good we had a doctor come down and check Mr. Hale out and we moved him to another room while we cleaned up, girl you are killing us over here, and we had to fill out_ two _incident reports because of what happened."

"Two?"

"Well you know the first one, but then Jennifer clocked you in the face with the door and you banged your head on the floor."

"I can believe it. It feels like I got run over."

"What's the diagnosis?"

"Trauma, blood loss. They ruled out concussion. I just wanna go home and take a bath."

"When are they releasing you?"

"Eight."

"Yeesh, by the way I'm giving you the day off. I'll handle your team today, okay. Just go home and rest. You need a ride?"

The thought that she couldn't drive hit her, she groaned and wondered if she could wheelchair jockey it all the way home in a hospital robe and a torn up uniform.

"I thought so, I find someone to take you. Get some rest."

The charge nurse hung up as a nurse walking by her bed informed her that the phone was for use by the staff only.

Lucette flashed the obnoxious woman her uniform and hung up the phone, when she looked back to tell the woman she was a nurse too she had already passed and disappeared somewhere.

Her would be chauffeur woke her at six by tapping her blanket covered foot over and over until she kicked at the hand.

"Yo, kiddo."

Doctor Shrineburg smiled widely.

She sat up and frowned petulantly.

"Want to kick it?" He pointed a thumb in the direction of the exit.

"Can't, have to wait until eight."

His grin grew and he puffed up his shoulders and straightened his suit coat as if he was the biggest dog in the bone yard and quite pleased with himself.

"Darling please, I'm a doctor."

He found a wheelchair and helped her into it after disconnecting her IV and removing the port from her arm, he piled her lap full of her things, tucking a blanket he stole from the linen cart around her after placing the equally ill gotten robe around her shoulders and wheeled her out, stopping at the nurses' station to inform them that he was stealing a patient and signing her out.

The nurse at the desk sounded like one she'd talked to but Lucette just kept her eyes on her hands clutching her bag of possessions meagerly.

"But it's Doctor Howers' patient."

"And Doctor Howers' is a dumbass, tell him I said that. See ya later."

Her wheelchair moved and eventually they made it to the Doctors' parking lot.

"Swanky," she commented dryly on the location and the car.

"Thanks, my wife hates it. She wants me to be more economical but when I told her I'd sell her car and make her ride a scooter to work she gave up that fight pretty fast."

He handed her the seatbelt and made sure she was buckled before moving to the driver's side and started the car.

Not bothering to buckle his own seatbelt he took off.

"You missed a stop sign," she told him.

"There was nothing to stop for. What do you want to eat?"

"I'm too nauseous."

"Then I'll buy you a juice-box."

"I don't want a juice-box."

"You're getting a juice-box."

"I don't care."

"Orange or cranberry?"

"I'll vomit in your car."

The idea gave him pause as he parked at a gas station ready to run into the attached convenience store.

"I'll get you a seltzer."

"Cherry or raspberry flavored, no kiwi or strawberry."

He came back with an egg and bacon breakfast sandwich for himself and tossed a bottle of black cherry seltzer at her. She burped indiscriminately every few sips. She asked if this was what doctors did every day when they couldn't be found in the hospital.

"Sometime we go to the casino and play slots. Dr. Howers likes Texas hold em' but he's horrible and losses all his money, but he makes the most since he's a neurologist."

"Easy come, easy go."

Looking over at her with egg hanging off his lip he studied her face.

"I should have made you sit in the back; you look like a battered wife."

She pulled down the visor and examined herself in the vanity mirror, "Holy shit. Bitch really got me with that door good!"

Her lip was purple and black and four times its normal size on one side, her brow was red and swollen, tender and closed with a butterfly suture, she really needed two more to close it properly. The swollen brow made her eye hold the appearance of being only half open; she pressed at the swell with her fingertips and hissed.

It felt like she had a golf ball inserted above her eyeball.

"Who's a bitch?" He chewed and put the car in reverse.

"The med nurse."

"Big red?"

"Yeah," she nodded and played with the seal ring on her bottle.

"Makes sense."

The bottle paused on the way to her lips, looking over she caught the grin on the doctor's face.

"Why? Is she always a bitch?"

"No she just doesn't like you."

It was like he was telling her it was going to rain later.

"Why?"

"Because you're younger and better looking and make more money than her. Also you tried to steal her patient."

"Technically he's _my_ patient."

"That's the type of attitude that got you hit with a door."

"…"

"And half your arm torn off."

If she hadn't 'stolen' the other nurse's patient she probably wouldn't be in her current situation, the point did seem to follow a logical thought pattern.

"It looked like he had claws."

"Freaky."

"Blood loss, hallucination."

"You could have like…died."

She smiled and took a sip of the carbonated beverage. "That would have been inefficient of the hospital; my dad would sue and buy a beach house in Florida."

"That's what I'd do."

"You're ridiculous."

"You want a prescription for painkillers?"

"Nah, I'm alright. I can't have booze then."

"You shouldn't be drinking booze when you're on an antibiotic, or have sex, you could get knocked up."

"I'm a nurse; I've memorized the drug handbook. I know."

"Just saying, there are a lot of babies out there because of penicillin."

"They should have a cool nickname."

"What like Generation X?"

"Maybe Generation contraceptive malfunction?"

"You're a contraceptive malfunction."

"I'm not, my sister is."

"My son is totally a contraceptive malfunction," he told her, shifting into third gear.

"Does he know?"

"Oh yeah, I told him 'you can fuck up, you're sister can't because she's the smart one, you are the nice one,_ don't_ fuck up and when me and your mother are dead you'll have a rich doctor sister to mooch off of,' and then he told me that his sister was dumb and that he promised not to knock anyone up or break into someone's house."

"You're a horrible dad."

"I try."

She belched.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Besides drive you home?"

"My dog needs to be walked."

"I don't do dogs."

"Please."

"Fine. I'll walk the damn dog."

"This is why all the nurses love you, you are so accommodating."

"The nurses all love me because I'm a very good gift giver," he looked over with a quick roguish smirk, that suggested exactly what types of gifts he liked to give.

"I _hate_ gifts," she emphasized.

"Don't worry you're not exactly my type."

"Thank god."

"Though if you're looking to settle down I know this one coworker of mine who does dental cosmetic surgery who would love you, her name's Joy. I can set you two up if you like."

"No thanks."

"She's very attractive, lipstick not bull."

"I'm not a lesbian," she informed him once she realized what he was getting at.

"Really?"

"Do I seem like a lesbian?"

"A pretty one."

"Really?"

"You're very authoritative."

"And that equates to lesbian?"

"Not necessarily. Sorry if I offended you."

"You didn't."

"Good."

"Do I give off a lesbian vibe?" She was curious.

"Not specifically it's just I don't know, you remind me of the lesbian dental cosmetic surgeon. In your attitude, and you haven't mentioned a boyfriend which is pretty much what all the nurses talk about when they aren't doing work."

"Well shit."

"I mean, maybe it's just me associating that type of manner with lesbians since I've seen one like that. I don't think anyone else would think you're a lesbian."

"Well that's good to know."

"Again, sorry."

"It's cool. I thought you were just a sugar daddy type of doctor."

"Well you're right about that."

"What's your wife think?"

"She thinks that as long as I pay the bills and take care of my children and don't shirk responsibility that if she doesn't have to see and the kids don't have to know about it then it's fine. We've been married a long time, I love her but she got old, men don't age like woman do."

"I can understand that."

"It's a good piece of knowledge to have, when dealing with men. _Do_ you have a boyfriend by the way?"

"No, never have."

"Really?"

"That's the response I usually get, but yeah. It's just that I'm picky, I don't settle."

"You're a smart kid."

"Thanks, wise old man."

"Hey! Be nice or I won't walk the dog."

"I'm still injured you know."

"Yeah, yeah."

She pointed at the next road to turn down and from there the conversation ebbed away, when he had parked in the driveway and she reached for the door handle she suddenly realized they had left the wheelchair in the parking lot.

When she mentioned it the doctor laughed and told her that he was wondering when she would notice.

She called him evil and he called her a spoil sport.

It was the most fun she'd had in a long while to watch him walk her large dog in his expensive suit and shiny buffed shoes. The fact that he stepped in dog excrement while she lounged in a state of luxury with a drink in hand on her front steps made it so much more enjoyable.

He handed her the leash after walking down the dirt road and back up to the house, he snatched away her drink and drained the small glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That mongrel shits turds the size a human being does."

"He's a big boy. How's your shoe."

"You saw me step in it?"

"Yep."

"Well wiping it off with a stick made me feel like I was really roughing it, like a real manly man. A veritable lumberjack. Move over."

She moved and scratched her dog's ears. He was a happy animal, glad to see his owner home, he seemed preoccupied with the bandaging on her arm and nosed at it until she smacked him lightly and pushed his snout away from it.

The doctor sat down and sighed. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Well call if you have problems, if you have vision changes or head pain call nine one one. Promise?"

"I will. I promise not to seize or hemorrhage on the floor."

"Okay then. I'm gonna get going. You off tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"I'll check in and make some excuse so you get Friday off too."

"That sounds fantastic."

"Take it easy, kid."

He got off the stoop and made his way to his expensive doctor car with his hands in his expensive doctor suit pockets and backed out with expensive doctor flair.

Lucette went inside with her dog and changed into her most ludicrous pair of patterned pajamas, a fleece number with Christmas motifs, and threw herself onto the couch and put on the alternative sports channel where half naked men kept fighting each other every hour of the day.

Her dreams after she fell asleep after midday were horrifying.

A mix of the inability to move her feet, sounds too brash and harsh and horrendously heartbreaking against a backdrop of too bright and then too dark. They melded into a collaboration of her running, not being able to run, pushing someone, pulling someone, being thrown forward, being pressed down by heavy things, her chest collapsing in on itself, the wet dankness of an environment she knew was ceaseless, people in montage patterns of ladders and shelves, trees and dirt, digital sounds and hard hospital mattresses, school buses and office desks, flares of color and a shot of adrenaline, agony so deep in her skin that she wanted to slip out of her flesh, let it slide off.

They were just feelings coalesced together in a kaleidoscope landscape.

She caught flashes of them that seemed to follow a progression of an event; dreams with small confusing plots made up of sandman dust and cast off mental reflections.

There was a part of the dream sequence where Jennifer stood over her and was administering a tube feeding into her but she could _taste_ it, feel her stomach filling, liquid fire and flesh and hot hard tension inside of her. Retribution and rehabilitation, a dream language phrase that she wouldn't remember when she woke.

Jennifer was talking to her, combing her hair with long fingernails, talons like some giant bird and no mouth, Jennifer became no more person than a department store mannequin model would if it learned to talk.

She was being told something important, something that thrilled her deep in her bones. She was weak. Jennifer washed her in tepid water, her face a blank mismatch of shadows and her red hair dipping into the water and then slowly she sank into the wash basin, like smoke moving over water only not over but into.

And then she was looking out a window with blinds and a man in a leather jacket sat next to her and hummed a song she knew in the dream. Later it would remind her of how she had sat with Mr. Hale the first day she'd met him and in a much stranger way of his nephew.

It scared her and when she woke up on the couch she rubbed the heel of her hand over her sternum and felt like sobbing, the dream had made her wake up with emotional tabs she couldn't place, overload and she cried tiredly for only a moment until she'd woken up completely and had forgotten why the dream had caused such a fierce emotional schism to form.

Dream Jennifer had been creepy, there was something violently wrong with the dream she was already unable to remember the fine details of.

There was a feeling of malevolence she couldn't shake and her forehead crinkled in her consternation at the inability to focus on what she'd been dreaming about. She'd been angry, not enraged but angry and knowing she was going to get her way, and get her way _good_. The impression made her feel powerful; ready to do what needed to be done and do it the best it had ever been done.

She wanted to tackle something. Break something.

Dream Jennifer had been just a faceless red-haired thing that talked when she wasn't able to understand anything. It had been like dream Jennifer was sharper and kept fading, gradually, like she herself was becoming less able to fathom the other nurse, unable to focus on her.

It was all very strange and Lucette propped herself up and wondered why she couldn't just get a good sex dream every once in a while.

She found herself trying to hum the tune of the song she knew in the dream and gave up when she realized she had no idea what it was in real life.

The tune kept coming out wrong with every try at replication, the notion struck her as unreasonably sad and fragile.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Again Lucy and Ethel and the 'Lucy, you got some splainin to do,' are all from I Love Lucy, Albuterol is a respiratory medication that helps ease breathing, a pulse oximetry reading is a measure of the oxygen level in the blood, normal is ninety-eight or above for the most part, a gastrostomy is an opening made into the stomach for feeding purposes, NPO means nothing by mouth, a toothette is a little piece of foam on a lollipop stick used for mouth care, antibiotics lower the efficacy of birth control pills, Penicillins and Cephalosporins are antibiotics and if a person in allergic to Penicillins there's a ten percent chance that they are also sensitive to Cephalosporins.


	5. The Plot

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N:** I really did not intend to do a chapter in anyone else perspective but after episode ten I really needed to in order to avoid being way too ambiguous in how certain things unfold after the events in the last chapter in the main story line which follows Lucette. For reference when Derek shows up in this it is after the events at the LTCF by one day so it occurs in the canon timeline gap between the end of episode nine and before episode ten. As a small side-note I should point out that there were in fact no other nurses seen at the end of episode nine besides Jennifer, so my interpretation of that pops up here.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 45:<strong>

He understood, he sympathized, but he found that it wasn't in him to do more than that. He figured the small submission; his concession of understanding meant the same thing as his assent to the other man. He wasn't stupid enough to refute the position, wasn't stupid enough to show anything besides compliance.

He couldn't.

Not then. Not there, soon maybe, perhaps, if he lived through to the end, if his own motivations weren't something readable in his face and the set of his shoulders.

Only if his uncle was not as skilled with the art of foresight as he was proving to be with the art of retribution.

His uncle wasn't stupid, he would know where he went but his uncle could only _assume_ to know why, and the younger Hale hoped that the assumption would be strong enough to parade around as fact because if it wasn't he was fucked, he was dead, he was worse; useless and unreliable to Scott and everyone else that the teenager had tagging along behind him.

"You bit someone?" The younger Hale stayed in the doorway of the bedroom while the older man picked through the small space, distaste evident in the way his features wrinkled and hardened.

"Hmmm?" Peter looked up from where he stooped to affirm if he really was looking at a cot, and not having some elaborate prank pulled on him by his nephew when he asked to see where he slept.

Derek stood stoic, a sentry at the door. His uncle went on, "oh, for a while I thought I was just imagining that it was a completely different woman, but you noticed too?" The scratch had not been pleasant and on impulse Derek raised his fingers to the spot on his neck where the marks had already healed over.

The younger Hale nodded as the other man picked around with the meager supply of bed linens on the cot, it seemed to surprise the older man that his nephew chose to live in what was a small step above squalor.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"It's already done," his uncle stood and smiled, pleased. "Didn't you look behind the nurses' station? The whole night shift was there in one convenient pile. _My_ nurse really made sure we were able to speak privately."

The admission chilled him.

"Must have missed that," he kept his tone neutral, his uncle nodded empathically, "You _were_ preoccupied."

"…," he didn't reply, just thought and grimaced at what he remembered from the night, the utter and complete powerlessness he had felt, he must have been scowling because he was reprimanded swiftly.

"Derek. _Derek._"

"What?" He came back to the present moment, shifting his weight and crossing his arms.

"Don't make that face; you don't make that face in front of _family_," his uncle chided moving towards him and then around him to the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

Without turning the other man all but skipped down the stairs.

"I think I'll go for a run. You should come too."

Derek gave him a look that told the older man exactly what he thought about going for a run.

"Or don't," the equivocation was flippant. The younger man remained as he stood.

"Take some time to think. Just don't think too much, there's no need since you're not the one who has to run everything and pull a wayward pack together."

The dig was sharp and barbed.

"Don't kill anyone."

"Scout's Honor." His uncle gave him a vague hand gesture. "I'm in the mood for venison anyway. Be good, don't stay up too late, brush your teeth," he smiled up at his nephew from the bottom of the stairs and left the house.

He controlled his breathing to control the beating of his heart, never too fast, never letting a skip in the steadiness to break through the façade of solidarity.

For a moment he'd thought the problem had been solved without him having to take care of it, but, no it was still there and it was only that Peter Hale had missed a very important fact that gave him the chance to exploit the one unnoticed variable in the current scheme of things.

His uncle's lucid moments in the nursing home were more frequent at night, things registered then like they didn't during the day when Jennifer wasn't there to bring him out of the stupor with a careful cocktail of cardiac and neuropathic stimulants.

Apparently his uncle hadn't been clocked in when the nurse he bit first introduced herself as his one-to-one for the day shift.

A day shift nurse might not have ended up in the pile of dead night shift ones behind the nurses' station, she could have but may not have.

He remembered how she thanked him for not trying to kill her during their last meeting, she thanked him for not killing her like the janitor whose body she'd found.

If he was lucky the sheriff brought his work home with him. If he was _very _lucky the sheriff's annoying son wouldn't be home to accost him.

* * *

><p>He came through the window and had to back up to keep himself from being barreled into.<p>

"Where the hell did you go? Dude! Not cool, I could have died!"

The teenager was rattled enough to put his face within centimeters of his own and point a finger at his face, close enough that he could see the bloody cuticle and the chewed ragged, dirty nail on it.

"Stiles."

"What?" The question was yelled into his face.

"Back up," he bared his teeth in a show of agitation that left the teenager sprawling backwards to trip on the edge of the bed and catch himself sloppily and disjointed against the rolling chair at his desk.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No." Derek stepped further into the room and looked around, not concerned with the notion of being especially pleasant or forthcoming with information.

The chair made a sound as Stiles flopped into it, all limbs and lack of grace and rolled towards him, "Well how did you get away from him?"

"I didn't."

The chair banged back against the desk and tipped over as the teenager jumped from it and made a circuit around the room that was less circular and more haphazard to and fro.

"Oh my god! He's here right now, he's gonna kill me. You son of a bitch!"

The older man tried not to scowl while he rolled his eyes at the hysterics, "Relax. No one's here besides me."

"So he's not going to kill me?" Stiles stopped pacing wildly like a caged animal.

Derek shrugged. "I didn't say that."

The admission made the teenage pale visibly and step toward him in anger and desperate fear. "You have to do something! He's _your_ crazy alpha uncle!"

The intrusion of his personal space made him close the gap and lurch himself closer to the boy, he walked forward until he tripped and toppled to the floor next to the chair, the sound of him clipping his elbow on the desk was almost amusing.

"What the hell do you want _me_ to do? Hmmmm?" Derek sucked his teeth, waiting mockingly for a snarky response. "What do you think _I_ can do?"

"You and Scott can take him; join up together make a new pack. You know fight for dominance, wolves do that. Don't they?" From the floor Stiles waited rubbing his sore elbow and glaring at him.

"He's stronger than me."

"But Scott…"

"If I'm stronger than Scott who wants to kill him in order to be cured do you think he has a chance alone?"

"No. But-…,"

"There's no 'but' Stiles, I can try to help him and then Peter can still kill me _and _Scott. I can't take him outright and I can't team with Scott to take him outright, my uncle isn't dumb, he's already assumed I'd come here or Scott's or the school."

The teenager picked himself up from the floor and sat on the edge of his bed, sullen and disheartened. "What are you going to do?"

Derek turned stiffly and looked out the window pausing for a beat. "I don't know yet."

Silence sprung up like grass between them.

"Well what did your crazy uncle say?"

"He's not crazy," Derek answered angrily, he watched Stiles' reflection in the window gesticulate without purpose behind him.

"Really? Because going out at night killing people and slaughtering nurses and hospital patients is pretty fucking crazy."

Turning he didn't fail to notice that the teenager backed further down the edge of the bed. "He's not, he's different. He lost parts of who he used to be, most of what was able to be healed is not human, it's animal."

"Oh well, that's fantastic," Stiles announced before flinging himself back onto the bed and slamming an arm over his eyes.

"Does your dad bring home his files?"

The boy didn't move from his position on the bed, or move his arm away from his face.

"Some of them, all of them pertaining to you and the fact that you are considered a wanted murderer."

"…"

Derek waited for the teenager to realize the irony of what he had just said. It didn't take long. "Oh, yeah. I said I was _sorry_ I-…,"

Derek banged his fist against the wall to cut him off. "Stiles."

"Yeah, got it. Shutting up."

"Where does he keep his files?"

Finally he sat up and got serious again. "You can't steal them. He'd notice that."

"I'm not going to steal them."

"Then what do you want with them?"

"I want to read them." The response seemed to exasperate the younger man.

"Why?"

"Do you want Scott to get his throat torn out by my 'crazy' uncle or do you want me to do what I can to try and fix this mess?"

"Fix," Stiles answered without pause.

"Files." Derek gave back a half sarcastic smile that only moved one cheek and crossed his arms.

"Hold on a second."

Scrambling off the bed and swinging himself out his bedroom door Stile's warned him not to touch anything while he went and swept the police files off the dining room table and brought them to him.

When he returned he cleared the desk of food wrappers and school textbooks, Derek took the chair and turned on the lamp, waving Stiles away impatiently as he searched for the information he wanted. After a short search he found the report he wanted and flicked it open.

"What are you looking for?" The question coming from the bed behind him, Derek looked over his shoulder to give an unsaid warning about trying to lean over his shoulder while he read.

"Don't worry about it," he grumbled after turning his head back around.

"I am worried about it," his company whined like a child not getting its way.

"Shut up."

"But, look maybe I can help I've looked through those things about a thousand tim-…,"

The teenager came over his shoulder and tried to peer down at the file until Derek swiveled the chair and blocked it with his body.

"Sit down and shut up," he pointed at the bed.

Stiles sat down and said no more.

Derek came to the discovery page of the report and memorized the address of the woman who had found it. He rearranged the files and left them in a neat pile on top of the desk.

"Where are you going?"

He was halfway to the window.

"To convince my 'crazy' uncle that it would be inconvenient to kill you now."

"What?"

"I'm buying some time," he sighed.

"Yeah. Excellent. Buy as much as you can!" The teenager shouted at his back as he opened the window. He stopped as he was just about to climb out and descend from the roof.

"Stiles, there is something you can do," he turned and looked at the boy.

"What."

"I need clothes, something with someone else's scent on it, a scent my uncle won't recognize."

"You want me to go shopping for you?" Stiles looked incredulous and Derek closed his eyes and took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, it has to have a _scent_ on it."

"So like steal stuff from the boys' locker room?"

Derek nodded. "I'll need it by tomorrow."

"So where do I bring it?"

"Keep it here, I'll come and get it."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"I need a favor."

"No."

"Seriously."

"What?"

Derek realized that he was going to not enjoy whatever the favor was.

* * *

><p>He ran into his dad and his coach in the parking lot after he sent off a text filled with expletive and exaggeration.<p>

"How's the deer?" His dad asked.

"About as mangled as my car." He pointed a thumb at the Jeep in all its smashed windshield, dented bummer, and blood covered glory.

"Talk about overkill, Stilinski." His coach intoned with an expression of revulsion.

He told his dad he was going to go see Scott but after a few steps his dad called after him to wait a second. He was on the phone and from the look growing on his face it wasn't a good call.

"Hey, I got to go. Emergency, if you need a ride," his father looked at his lacrosse coach who looked back blankly until he realized his father was designating him as his son's ride home if the Jeep didn't feel like starting.

"What me?"

Stiles watched his father shift his stance and give his coach his patented Sheriff face.

"Yeah, sure. Stilinski just hurry up," his coach waved him off.

He almost forgot the entire mission of coming to ransack someone's gym locker when he saw Scott, bleeding from the neck on the shower floor and scared shitless as he related the events that had just occurred with Derek and his uncle.

It scared him shitless to.

While Scott got dressed he snuck over to Danny's locker and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts and a cut off sweatshirt thinking while he did it that if the locker's owner returned it would be hard to explain, and that the only lie he could use would _have_ to be a homoerotic come on to the other boy.

Pausing and considering the idea with a wave of his head on his shoulders he wondered if just telling Danny the truth would work, telling him his cousin Miguel just wanted to borrow a shirt.

For a brief moment Stiles wished for him to come into the locker room and catch him stealing his clothes, it would be a sweet way to get back at the werewolf for his constant threats and belittlements.

He was disappointed when the only one who caught him in the act of pilfering other boys' clothing was Scott who let the issue go when Stiles explained it was a necessary evil and directed him out of the locker room and to the parking lot.

Thankfully his Jeep started and Scott didn't ask for further explanation beyond the deer hitting lie that he spit out on impulse, later he thought it was a good thing he hadn't mentioned asking Derek to wreck his car, he had no idea if he was supposed to tell anyone about that or about Derek trying to work out the problem on his side.

It all felt too much like Derek trying to play double agent, Stiles hoped it worked out soon because he did not at all enjoy playing Robin to Derek Hale's Batman.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I had planned on making this in Derek and Sheriff Stilinski's perspectives but Stiles ended up taking his dad's place. I think I'll try to do one of these short perspectives every so often in the story. Maybe I don't know, have to think it over.


	6. The Panacea

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait, I got a little busy with RL stuff. Derek returns this chapter. Timeline wise all this occurs during episode nine and the beginning of ten after the locker room event where there's a gap of empty time. The way I figure it episode ten takes place over _at least _5-7 days because otherwise episode eleven would still take place in October based on the idea that the first episode starts in September and two full moons have gone by, and since they're having a winter formal in the season finale i.e. episodes eleven and twelve it must be November for the idea of a winter formal to be plausible, based on my own school experience that winter dances don't happen in December because of sport championships and the vacation time for the holidays. Also I've been making a consistent mistake, I keep referring to Beacon Hills as Beacon Heights, sorry about that.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 44:<strong>

The mirror reflected her sunken eyes and sallow complexion back at her lit by horrible bathroom fluorescents. The caked red line from the split in her lip was a sharp constant ache. The bulbous knob on her brow made her eyelid sag and was tender and hot to the touch.

It hurt, an aching swollen hurt that made her want to lance it right then and there.

A migraine was starting somewhere between her temples and ears, shrill and severe.

It was the dog barking that woke her at two o'clock in the afternoon; someone had been at her door.

The police uniform had her mind working overtime until he explained that it was the prearranged meeting she'd set up with the police desk clerk that he was calling on her for.

When he took in the sight of her and asked if it was a bad time she explained she wasn't feeling well but to come in and give her a second.

She tried to make herself presentable by washing her face, brushing her teeth, and putting her hair up but it didn't do much besides make her seem as if instead of waking up sick she'd become sick during the course of a long day in which she'd undergone a beatdown.

The police officer waited patiently as she jogged the short distance to her bedroom calling out that she just needed to change and put the dog away.

She asked if he wanted coffee, he told her only if she was going to have some. In the kitchen she felt the nervous tension as he watched her make coffee and stood awkwardly about as if not quite sure if she'd yell at him for taking a seat at her kitchen table, he eyed the chairs waiting to take her lead.

Making a vague gesture in the direction of the table he sat and she felt a little less out of place in her own home now that he wasn't standing around staring at her.

"Just give it a minute, okay, question away," she sat and smiled tiredly.

The officer stared at her face for much longer than a polite amount of time. "You lose a fight?"

"Yeah with a delirious patient and a heavy door," she joked half-heartedly spinning an ashtray left on the small table.

"You a doctor?"

She shook her head in the negative as he preoccupied himself with arranging folders on the table with the necessary police reports clipped inside.

"No, thank god. I'm a nurse," she told him while he looked down at the top file and flicked it open with a slap against the table top.

Looking up with an expression of hard seriousness he commented, "Hard job."

"Yeah but not as hard as your's I guess." She got up to take down mugs and pour coffee. "How exactly does this thing work?" She asked without looking behind her at the officer.

"Just tell me what you remember about the incident and go over it with me, mention anything that has come to mind since, things you may have forgotten about the first time around."

She nodded to herself as she brought over the mugs and set them down, seating herself once again.

"The guy in the woods right?"

"Yes ma'am, and also they said there was something else, let me just find the other report."

"The break-in at the nursing home with Derek Hale," she informed him after a sip.

"That would be it," he said more to his files than to her.

"Start with the woods though, right?"

"Start wherever you like."

He dragged over his coffee and fumbled for a pen.

"Coffee," she smiled taking another gulp. He seemed to fake amusement for her benefit at the dumb joke, "Alright."

"I was walking the dog, he brought back a shoe, and I called it in,"

"This is the first phone call of the two correct?"

"Yes. And then I went to see where it had come from and I found the body."

"Go on."

"So I called it in and I waited and then you guys got there."

"And you didn't see anyone?"

"No."

"Did your dog bark at all?"

"No."

"Do you remember anything else that you may have forgotten?"

"No."

He jotted things down and she settled back further into her chair pressing the warm mug to her split lip and sighing heavily, tired and sore.

"Walk me through what happened at the nursing home."

"Well, I went in to sit with Mr. Hale," she started before the officer interjected, "Peter Hale?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Peter Hale. I normally don't stay after my shift is over but I still had some paperwork and it was the kind of thing that has to get done before I go home so I decided to go and do what I usually do, which is a one-to-one with Mr. Hale while I wrote out my reports."

He made more notations on the report.

"One-to-one?"

"It's like a babysitter, it was in his file that the family had requested it months before I started working and no one had really gotten around to doing it so since I'm like a nurse manager and don't really have any patients I thought it'd be good to alleviate that tension," she explained.

"What do you mean?"

He was confused by the notion, she thought of how to explain it better.

"Well, families tend to get more edgy when they feel like they're being ignored, so you try to make everything easier on everyone if you can. That's what I guess I was trying to do. I didn't exactly know that he didn't have much family at the time."

His pen moved. "I see, so after you finished your reports you went to leave the room and go home for the night, is that correct?"

"Yes. But the door was shut and I thought one of the aides did it."

"We interviewed them and they said they didn't," he informed her of what she already had known.

"I know; he did, Derek Hale."

"Did you notice him come in?"

"No. I didn't even know he was sitting on the other side of the room until I smelt him."

"Smelt?" The officer's eyebrows shot up at the idea.

"I got a whiff of ashtray and I turned and he was there and then everything kind of went fast after that."

"It says in the report that he was injured and that you performed care of him."

"Yes, I left and got supplies and I just tried to act normal because he gave me this look like if I didn't do it that he would try something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like hurt his uncle or me, I watch the news, he's made out to be a killer so I think my reaction is understandable."

"Perfectly," he sympathized. He took a small sip of coffee.

She took hers away from where she had pressed it to her mouth when the conversation paused, there was a wet red smudge on the rim of the cup.

"So then I told him he should really have a doctor look at the wound and gave him some antibiotics left over in the medicine cart."

"And it was at this point that he advanced forward towards you?"

"Yes, I guess and I just stabbed him with a syringe I had in my pocket for another patient and told him it was insulin and lied my ass off and then I followed him down the stairwell and pushed him out the door into the parking lot."

The officer seemed to wave off the things he already knew and had read about in the preliminary report. "Can you describe his wound?"

"Big," she nodded remembering before going on, "early signs of an infection setting in."

"Was it a bullet wound?"

"No, it was bigger than that, almost like he fell on something big and sharp, like a pipe or something."

"Did he say how he got in?"

"No. He said that he'd done it before, that he liked to visit his uncle at night sometimes."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Not that I can remember, he wasn't much of a conversationalist."

"Anything else you remember?"

"No, not off hand."

"Okay then. I'm going to leave you with my number and the number of the station, call if you remember anything else. Alright?"

He got up and put his papers and files and pen away. She watched only half aware that they were finished with the questioning.

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry about…forgetting that you were coming, it's been a busy few days."

"I know the feeling. Miss."

He gave her a curt nod and said he could find his way out.

Lucette sat for awhile, thinking about nothing and drinking her coffee, idly trying to find designs in the wood grain of her table.

After finishing her coffee she went back to the bathroom mirror.

Deciding that she wasn't going to spend the rest of the day with a squinted eye she went to find her travel sewing kit.

She boiled the biggest needle and pressed it into the swollen knob, her toes curling at the sensation of sharp pain as it passed through skin, she repeated the procedure until the plasma and lymph fluid oozed out, serosanguineous. She placed a hand towel over her eye and depressed the bulb with her fingertips.

It was a slow and sore process.

When it no longer drained any more fluid she gave the spot a quick deep jab and squeezed it as hard as she could.

Wiping the spot with an alcohol pad and putting a piece of gauze and a band-aid on the lump she grinned in grim satisfaction that it was less golf ball and more pebble in appearance.

She glanced at her right elbow and the bulk of the dressing preventing her from bending it into an acute angle. It was enforced well enough that it only throbbed softly with motion.

Picking at the edge of the tape she walked around her bathroom contemplating whether or not to change the bandaging.

Her first-aid kit was an assemblage of things she came home with in her pockets at the end of a shift for the past three years that took up space in her bedroom closet.

She pulled off the t-shirt she'd hastily thrown on and with the duffel bag of medical supplies under her arm watched herself light a cigarette in her vanity mirror the end exploding into orange lace as she inhaled fire.

Moving into the bathroom she exhaled twin smoke curls from her nostrils.

Sitting on the edge of the tub she unfolded the gauze and dressing pad from the crook of her arm, squinting from the smoke of her cigarette drifting towards the ceiling.

The smell made her lips close tight around the filter of her cigarette.

It was the sickly sweet onset of purulence and decaying proteins, pus and infection, white blood cells and waste products.

She lifted the toilet seat with her toes and dropped the cigarette into it as she let the bandaging fall completely onto the tile floor.

Red and swollen and leaking it was an ugly wound. The ring of discharge on the dressing was red and yellow.

They hadn't been able to stitch it up much further than the deepest tissue layer because the resulting scar would pucker in a way that would be uncomfortable to her nerves, in result it gapped open where they wanted tissue to granulate in and scab over.

It was like a bed sore, the depth and the color and the wetness of it.

She put wound gel on it and unwrapped a padded dressing to place on top, wrapping it in gauze she moved her fingers and made a fist. It was looser than the previous dressing but it would give it air flow.

Using the mirror to look at her shoulder and deltoid she was relieved to find the stitches free of the telltale signs of infection, she didn't redo their dressings; they would scab faster without them.

Swallowing two tablets of aspirin she willed her head to stop hurting and her complexion to return to normal and not grow any paler.

There were circles under her eyes and she felt the lagging fatigue that accompanied bodily aches, she climbed back into bed and slept with her dog at the foot of the bed.

She had vivid fever dreams that she only remembered as being brutal and unsettling, she wondered hazily is she was really dreaming at all or if she was in the state of being so tired she was just thinking and was imagining that she was dreaming.

The content of her thoughts, or her dreams were wildly feral and she wondered if they were the sort of things her dog dreamt about whenever she'd watched him kick out in a dream chase or whine or tense his muscles as if ready to pounce on dream prey.

In her dreams, or her thoughts, she wondered what it was that she was preying on, tensing her muscles for, and whining about, she wondered if she was going to catch it.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 45:<strong>

She made her shower icy to lull the fever to a less worrisome temperature. The scrambled eggs in her stomach and the oatmeal she forced down her throat roiled in her stomach, not wanted to stay in her body and digest.

It was awful to be sick, it was worse to be sick and have the phone start ringing accusingly at her as she dripped water across the wood floors of her living room.

Letting the answering machine catch the call she stood dazed and goose-bump ridden, naked and toweling her hair in front of the turned off television, her reflection had her entranced for several long moments.

A feminine but robotic voice informed her that all nurses currently employed by the Beacon Hills Long Term Care Facility were to report immediately as emergency support personnel for a mass causality event.

It took her a moment to realize that she had to get dressed and go into work.

The same type of thing had only ever happened to her once before when there had been a twenty-two car pile-up on a major interstate highway when she'd still been just a med nurse.

She pulled herself together and dressed in clothes she wouldn't mind having to throw out because of blood later and filled a tote bag with a box of gloves from her own supply and a medley of medical supplies she had extra stock of.

She had more in the cargo box of her truck that she'd grab before she went in.

Yanking her hair up into a tight bun as she went on a frantic search for sneakers she told her dog to, if need be, to urinate only on the kitchen floor because it was the easiest floor to clean.

Going thirty miles over the speed limit she made it there in less than ten minutes.

The parking lot was full of uniformed officers and flashing lights.

The sirens split her migraine into twin power drills digging into either side of her skull.

She parked and in a rush showed a multitude of officers her identification badge and was all but dragged inside, marched passed the usual unit she worked on and into the previously closed down geriatrics ward hall of the facility and pushed into the fray of noise and frantic panic without so much as an explanation or an apology.

"Jeez," she muttered to herself at the mob of nurses dressed like they had just rolled out of bed running up and down the aisle between the long rows of beds filled with patients hooked up to cardiac monitors.

Catching sight of a nurse's aide that worked the morning shift with her Lucette jogged over to grab the young woman's wrist and asked to be clued into what exactly was going on.

"You know Jennifer? The one that hit you with the door?"

The question surprised her and made her let go of the other woman's wrist at the girl's tone of voice.

"Yeah."

"Well she went nuts and killed the whole night shift…and most of the patients," the young aid explained sounding more than a little irritated and put out.

Lucette was at a loss for eloquent speech, "Holy shit. Really?"

"Yeah, she injected them with Haldol." The aide looked off down the row of beds, taking in the sight of so many patients.

She looked back at Lucette, "Almost everyone was dead when we got in this morning, just lying in a pile, all together. Dead. Jesus Christ."

Sam ran a hand over her hair, wisping out from her high ponytail. "Fuck. This is bad shit, Lucette."

After closing her eyes and taking a breath the young woman picked her head back up and pinned her with a stare.

"And your patient is missing; we have no idea where he is."

"Mr. Hale?" She was still trying to wade through the fact that about fifty people were dead and she was stuck working on the eighty bed ward understaffed with only twenty nurses running around yelling instructions.

The younger woman nodded.

"Did Jennifer take him or something?" The implication puzzled her.

The idea made her think about the way the redhead had been holding his hand; the innocent action suddenly seemed perverse and sinister.

"Jennifer's dead. Her head was bashed in. I _found _her. The cops think his nephew did it when he saw what had happened; they think he came back last night."

"How do they know Jennifer killed all the nurses?"

"She had all the syringes on her."

Lucette remembered that she wondered if Jennifer was hoarding Haldol, she knew now why someone would. She had _known_. She hadn't told anyone, her stomach bottom out. "Fuck!"

Sam didn't notice the way Lucette's face changed with the outburst.

"Like I said, this is_ bad_ shit."

She thought about who was in the pile of dead nurses, she measured all the nurses against each other and picked out to herself who was expendable, who she wouldn't have minded so much being dead, the people whose lives hadn't impacted her own. The exercise was involuntary.

"Oh my god, Trish! Is she okay?"

"Yeah, Trish is fine," the aide told her pointing down the aisle of beds to where the older nurse stood carrying supplies in one hand and wheeling a med cart with her other.

"Good," she let her shoulders sag for a moment in relaxation.

"Doctor Shrineburg's dead, though."

She straightened hard. It made her dizzy and hot all over, she was sweating. Sam noticed and reached out to grab her forearms as she swayed for a moment and moved a leg back to regain equilibrium.

"Lucette? Shit, sit down. You okay? Are you going to pass out on me?"

"I just saw him yesterday, he drove me home after I got my stitches and everything, walked my dog for me. He dropped off my truck afterwards, oh my god. It woke me up when he tried to back it in the driveway and I told him he was an asshole for waking me up, god I was such a brat. He's _dead_."

She looked up pleadingly, angry that Jennifer had killed someone she was sort of friends with and glad that the redheaded bitch was dead.

The aide put a hand on her shoulder and felt the heat of her skin despite the damp sweat. Sam took her hand away and pressed it to Lucette's cheek and nodded to herself. "Christ, Lucette you're hot. You've got a fever. Go home."

"I am _not_ going home, Sam." She hissed loudly when the aide pushed her to get her to sit down on the open bed behind her piled high with boxes of gloves and briefs and other supplies.

"Fine, just, _fuck_. I can't deal with this. Hold on, don't you dare move I'm getting Trish, right now."

The aide came back with the older nurse scowling behind; Trish stood and stared down at her, sizing her up.

"You look like hell. You need another dose of antibiotics, now. Come on, I'll get an officer to take you down to the emergency department."

"No," Lucette knew she sounded petulant and bratty.

"You can't stay if you're just going to pass out and cause a fuss," the older woman's tone was condescending and made the aide look like she suddenly shouldn't be interrupting whatever it was the other two woman were about to have a pissing contest over.

"Get me a saline lock, I'll put it in my arm myself and I'll dose myself with as much antibiotic as you want."

She made her expression hard and tried not to smile when she realized she was about to get her way.

"…fine. Don't move from this spot while I get one. Sam will stay with you while you do rounds."

Trish threw her the package not long after and shooed away the nurse's aide.

The older nurse watched her set up the intravenous catheter and yank on sterile gloves, "You'd make a good field nurse."

"I'm too good-looking to dodge bullets," Lucette responded dryly. "Shit that kills," the pinch of puncture hurt, she feed the catheter up around the injected needle and winced as she got it in place. "Shrineburg really dead?"

"Yeah," Trish leaned across the bed and grabbed the garbage from the packaging. She handed Lucette the butterfly suture to stabilize the intravenous port.

"I feel like him and me could have been best friends, you know? Go to the casino together and talk smack about all the other nurses and doctors."

Lucette wrapped her arm around the port with sterile gauze and taped it.

"I know."

"You know anyone who died?"

"Friends, you mean?"

"Yeah." Lucette disposed of the needle for the IV insertion in a biohazard sharps container.

"Me and Angela, the nurse practitioner, went to nursing school together for the past eleven years and she's dead and I never really liked her too much but she was a good woman and all of this is so screwed up."

"Do they know why she did it?"

"No. Stay here for a few minutes."

Trish left her to sit and wait. Sam came to take her place.

"Did she tell you not to let me up for the next half an hour?"

"Fifteen minutes," the aide said giving a flippant gesture to the statement.

"Better than being sent home."

Sam raised a single eyebrow, "I'm not so sure about that."

"What needs to be done?"

"Symptom management and calling codes and resuscitating. I don't know how to intubate someone, Lucette, what if I fuck up and someone dies?"

"Just straighten their neck, open the mouth and jam the tube down, it's kind of hard to actually perforate the esophagus in a healthy person, if you do it won't matter until later."

"Okay."

"Can I get up now?"

Lucette eyed the cardiac strip of the patient in the bed closet to them.

"It's only been like three minutes."

The rhythm was weird.

"Fuck it, Mrs. Doyle is about to code, get me an AED!" She sprung from the bed and stopped her skid with a firm grip on the woman's bed.

"I need some help over here! Hypertensive emergency with V-Tach, I need lidocaine, _now_!" She yelled into the aisle, unable to do anything but shout orders for the moment, the med cart was too far away to run to.

She watched the cardiac monitor and spewed a line on profanity. "She's going to fibrillate. She's fibrillating!"

Lucette looked around for Sam, she was too far down the ward jogging with the AED box in hand. "Sam!"

"Thump her! Hard!" Trish yelled running down the aisle made between the long rows of beds.

Lucette did, it felt like she'd broken her hand after her fist made contact with the woman's sternum. The read-out was showing the same jagged little arcs, no change.

"She's flat! Epi!"

Trish ran and slammed into the bed frame with the pen in hand and pushed away Lucette's hands, driving the trigger syringe down hard into the woman's chest.

"Rhythm! Got it!" Trish shouted for a doctor. "She's coding again. Sam bag her."

Lucette started chest compressions.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty."

"Two pumps, Sam," Lucette commanded.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Two pumps, again."

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Give her another shot of the epi."

Sweat rolled off her forehead and onto her knuckles, her hair was sticking to her face and mouth.

"Last one," Trish warned.

Lucette realized the woman was going to die. "Just do it, she's not coming back."

The shot of epinephrine put a blip on the monitor but only for a second.

"Asystole," she commented shaking her head.

The nurse's aide didn't get it, she kept trying to give rescue breaths even as the two other women and the just arriving doctor called it off.

"Sam," she didn't answer. "_Sam_!" She tried again; her strong tone didn't deter the younger woman.

"Just keep going. Move! I'll do it." The aide pushed her from the bed; Lucette stumbled and caught herself on the empty one behind her.

"Sam!" Trish yelled.

"What!" Sam yelled back.

"Come on," Lucette soothed.

"Lucette."

"Yeah," she nodded and took the aide by the arm and steered her away from the dead woman so the doctor could pronounce the time of death.

"Get her out of here," the resident doctor commanded.

Lucette nodded again, "Yeah."

The staff room was crowded and they had to settle with sitting on the floor.

"That was awful."

Nodding Lucette grabbed a soda from the food cart in the room and popped the tab, she handed it to Sam.

"Drink it."

"I don't want it."

"It'll take the edge off."

"I've never had someone die in front of me before."

"I know."

"I'm a fucking wreck. I'm sorry I pushed you."

The other woman looked sorry about it, Lucette shrugged. "You don't have to go back in there."

"I _do_." There was wry conviction lacing the statement.

"Okay."

"Go. I'll be there in a bit. I don't want you to watch me cry."

"Alright. Drink that. Get your nerves together. We need people in there right now."

Trish found her as she left the room and dragged her away from the swarming staff room entrance and into an empty supply closet.

"Hold out your arm." Lucette obeyed the command as the older nurse brandished a syringe.

"This will just about kill anything you got."

"What is it?"

"An aminoglycoside."

"Big guns."

Trish injected her, "In case of sepsis."

"I don't have sepsis. Not _yet _anyway."

"Well you won't be getting it, _at all_. Here, three more doses, you didn't get it from me. One every day, next three days, but dilute it please, don't burn out your vein." Trish extended the syringes. Lucette put them in the pocket of her zip-up.

"I've got a few bags of normal saline stashed away for rainy day occasion. They're still sterile, I think. I'll find out."

"Being a nurse is fun ain't it?"

Lucette grinned back with the image of being able to finagle an at home syringe set-up in her mind, but it didn't stick around, her mood grew dark when she remembered what it was like outside of the room, "Not today it isn't."

"Not today," the older woman confirmed her eyes sad and tired.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 46:<strong>

They'd kept her working until five when most of the patients were declared stable and only three had died. She went home and took a nap with her head feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice.

The feeling remained when she had woken up.

She had kicked her fleece pajama pants down to her ankles under the blankets at some point, her thighs and the backs of her knees felt hot and sweat slicked as they rubbed together when she shifted to sit up and yank them back up around her hips.

Her shoulders were cold without the blanket around them. She found her top on the floor where she had thrown it before curling up in bed.

Putting it on she made her way out of the sheets grimacing as her hips throbbed, it was from spending too much time on her feet she decided.

Brigadier trotted over and whined into her palm as she pet him, he needed to go outside.

He followed her to the kitchen and padded out the back door to do his business on the patio.

The coffee maker made clicking sounds in it's still on state; she poured a mug and sat down, putting her feet up onto a chair.

She was sweating inside the heavy fleece of her pajamas; begrudgingly she left the coffee and the kitchen to take her temperature pulling her collar away from the pool of sweat collecting between her collar bones.

The machine beeped with a reading of a hundred and two, she swayed and sat down heavily on the closed toilet lid, reaching down into the tub to pull the drain tab and turn the knob for cold water.

She was running too hot; she waited until the tub was full enough for an ice bath and stopped the water to bring in her dog.

In the kitchen she pulled the freezer open and grabbed the ice tub out of it, holding it on her palm as she went to open the door for her dog.

He barked loudly from somewhere off the porch at the back of the house.

She called and got no response, blaming his lack of obedience on a possum or, with a small grin, maybe a mountain lion that picked the wrong animal to mess with.

Closing the back door she picked up her mug from the table and adjusted her grip on the ice bucket, her hand going numb.

Her breath came out in a gasp and she dropped the ice bucket sending cubes across the floor in all direction at what was standing in her kitchen.

He wasn't dressed the way she'd seen him before, he looked like he just returning from a workout at the gym, as if he were a normal guy instead of an on the run for murder and kidnapping fugitive and just decided to drop by and say hello like they were buddies.

"Relax," Derek Hale held up his hands in a way that he probably meant to be soothing.

It did the opposite and only reminded her of how her father said in situations like this a person had to go straight to ten.

She flung the coffee mug at him, spilling most of it down her arm, burning the skin pink and discoloring the gauze around her intravenous port.

He swayed to the side and it shattered on the floor and into the hall instead of in his face.

"That was stupid. Your aim is horrible."

It was, her arm was smarting, she placed her hand over the raw skin and jumped when her dog rammed into the back door trying valiantly to get inside.

"Don't," he warned, his eyes staying on her instead of the door.

Her legs tensed wondering how fast she could unlock the door and open it for the large animal. "What do you want?"

"My uncle bit you."

"No harm no foul." She wondered if the flippancy would make him leave.

He looked at her bitten arm and the bulk of the dressing from where she'd rolled her sleeve up, "Looks like it's doing a lot of harm to me."

"What would you know about it?" It came out sounding like an accusation.

He stalked closer and she remained where she stood, not wanting to back herself into the kitchen table. She wanted as much to room as possible.

"Let me guess, ice for the fever, right?" He widened his eyes and pursed his lips, like he already knew, she realized why.

He said it because he _did_ know what was happening. He toed ice cubes out of his path.

"Headache, you feeling nauseous? They give you meds for an infection? How are they working?" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head as if agreeing to something with himself and took another step towards her.

"What does your uncle have? Huh? What? Tell me!" Her voice boomed through the kitchen, she clenched her jaw and made a point not to look at the door where her dog growled louder as Derek Hale got closer.

"How have you been sleeping? Having weird dreams lately?"

He was taunting her.

"What the _fuck_ does he have?"

Her voice was strained, fury coating everything in a fine glaze. His eyes moved to the door and she took it as a cue to throw herself in the opposite direction to reach into the sink.

She brandished a serrated steak knife. He looked at it with disgust and turned his body fully towards her. "Really? Are you serious?"

"Brigs!" She yelled hoping that if she was loud enough her dog would manage to break through the glass door panels, he didn't and she felt foolish.

"Could you stop yelling?"

"What do you want?"

"I came to see you."

"Why?"

"Because you've been bitten."

"Oh, thanks. You saw me. Get the fuck out of my house." She dodged out of reach when he stepped closer, lunging with the knife, she knew she was fucked when his fingers became a bracelet around her wrist.

He flung her into the hallway like she was weightless; she crashed on her bad shoulder and tripped on the rug at the bottom of the stairs as she ran. "Shit," she managed to breathe when her knee was stabbed by the edge of the coffee table.

"What are you doing?"

He asked calmly when she came out of her bedroom brandishing her handgun. "Better than a knife right?" She laughed, her lungs heaving and her head ready to burst. She white-knuckled the doorframe with her free hand and tried not to sway.

"You'll miss," he sounded like he was talking about her furniture choices, so casual.

She saw her hand twitch and tightened her fingers on the grip.

"You can't even stand up straight," he told her when her vision started to swim with black speaks, she fought the urge to shake her head to get rid of them.

"You think you can aim well enough to hit me? Fine, go ahead."

She slumped onto the doorframe and aimed feeling like she was about to throw up, her fever was too high. It was getting worse.

She fired and missed excepting the shot that grazed his bicep, he didn't even wince. It was pitiful.

Her thoughts were a mess of wondering if anyone had heard the gun shots, she had no neighbors and the park grounds were more ghost-town since the wild animal attacks had started.

"You finished?"

"Get out!" She yelled, she felt spit on her chin and wiped at it with the back of her hand, tripping forward and swinging wildly for balance.

"You're out of bullets."

He was in front of her face. She swayed out of the door and used their proximity to try to pistol whip him in the head.

She watched him roll his eyes and yank the gun from her, tossing it onto the couch. "Heh, yeah that won't work either. Calm down."

He dragged her stumbling body into the bathroom as her body tingled; she was on her last legs.

Hospitals and doctors and ice were what she needed, not a killer in her house in the middle of the night.

She fell on her knees and he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and dropped her over the edge of the tub, she laid down with the water rolling out of the tub from her splash into it.

Derek Hale, crazy psycho murderer, crouched next to the tub and put a hand on the top of her head and dunked it down.

It took her a moment to realize the gravity of the thought and for panic to settle in long after he placed a hand on her collarbone and held her body to the bottom of the tub and leaned all his weight into the arm pinning her.

The frigid water worked and brought her fever down but as the haze faded clarity came and she realized that he was drowning her.

She pursed her lips together hard to keep every bit of air inside her body, then she dug her nails into his arm and focused on trying to rip his skin off, then she thrashed as her lungs burned and cramped in the absence of oxygen, then she started kicking in the vain attempt to slosh enough water out of the tub, he pressed harder and she kicked at the tiled wall to try and get leverage, her hips raising to throw her body up until he put his hand on her closest thigh to ease her struggling.

Trying to work her heel up onto the small tub ledge under the soap dish she kept missing and kicked out until she felt the wet ridges and slip of soap under her toes, she hefted her body up with her foot and for a second she thought she had got the drop on the man holding her in the tub, until the soap dish dislodged and her legs crashed back into the water.

She kicked it out of the tub, it didn't even come close to hitting him and instead she figured she had probably broken the top of her foot and a few toes with the stunt.

Her vision went fuzzy and her mind muddled, bleary and weak she tried to not pass out as her mouth opened sucking in water in its vain attempt for air.

She was swallowing water and then she was breathing it, she thrashed again and grabbed at his arms, something snapped in his wrist and she clawed at him, enraged and pumping with adrenaline and panic.

Air felt sweet and she sucked it in, coughing and then pushing at the weight falling on her she threw herself through the water to the other side of the tub looking for an escape until her back was rammed into the tub spiquet.

The fact that his face wasn't his own didn't click; the fact that he had claws didn't either. She felt no fear, felt that there was no oddity in the fact that she bared her teeth and snapped at his jaw.

He growled loud and long in her face with a shove that hurt her spine as it pressed harder into the metal behind her. She pushed forward and growled back, an animal sound tearing itself from her throat and leaving it raw in its wake.

"Calm down!" He snarled, his features changing, becoming again a human mask.

It struck her then that faces shouldn't do that, couldn't do that. Her breathing evened and her mouth felt strange, her bottom lip tasted like blood and spit, it was cut. Her fingers rolled over it and found the hardness of teeth, too sharp and too long.

Her nails weren't nails, they were like what Peter Hale's had looked like when he'd bitten her. Talons, claws, dangerous, sharp, deadly.

She panicked and rolled out of the tub, tangling herself on the shower curtain and falling over the toilet bowl onto the floor.

Looking at her hand she found nothing the matter with it. Her mind was clearing, her mouth felt like her own and she spewed water from her lungs, chest heavy and shaking.

"What the _fuck_ was that? What the _fuck_!" She breathed rolling over and watching him climb sloppily out of the tub and sat on the floor with his back to it.

He raised a brow, "What did it look like it was?"

"Like you're a badly mad-up extra on an episode of Buffy. What the _fuck_!" She punched the floor.

"Stop saying 'what the fuck,'" he commanded looking bored when she scowled and threw a glare at him.

"Get out of my house." Her voice was calm but her nerves were razor thin and her hands were hurting, like her mouth, her vision was sharpening, focused and mean.

His expression changed, he studied her. "Go look in the mirror."

"Shut up!"

Her nail beds felt like they were breaking apart, sliding and morphing into something, like they were growing something.

She clenched her eyes shut.

"Go _look_!"

"No."

"Stop being difficult! Look."

He wrenched her up from the floor and she felt the edge of the sink bang into her hips, she didn't look at the mirror, she struggled and jumped up to throw herself away, he cursed and wrapped an arm like branded steel across her waist and chest, she kicked and knocked hair products and make-up from the counter.

"Get off, ack-…" He put an arm across her throat and his muscles tightened, he made her look and if the lack of oxygen as he pressed down on her carotid arteries wasn't enough to make her pass out, what stared back fierce and angry in the mirror would have.

She was on the floor, coming to with the thought that she hadn't been out long since she was still sopping wet, the fleece tight and uncomfortable around her limbs.

Her hand reached out and slapped something warm and bony, a calf. She kept slapping at it so the owner would know she was awake.

"Stop that," he mumbled.

She kept slapping his leg.

"I. Said. Stop," he snarled at her, she rolled her head on the tile floor and saw the broken shards of the soap dish lying in the connecting doorway of her bedroom. Risking a glance at his face she saw that he didn't even have his eyes open.

She lifted a broken shard of the handle piece and gripped it close to her palm.

Turning she stabbed him in the thigh with it, triumph evident in her face as she yanked it out and stabbed again going for the femoral artery.

He reached down and plucked the deadly instrument from her like she'd been offering it to him like a flower or a pencil.

Looking down at her he seemed to find the whole scenario only marginally irritating as his blood pooled out from his body onto the bathroom floor.

Numbly she watched the skin knit together with a sucking squelch of flesh binding and healing. Her hair and pajamas dripped into a puddle that blood rolled through like smoke.

Her chest was cold, her sternum felt iced over and suddenly she realized that if he even glanced at her casually that he'd be looking at her torso in its entirety from the way the fleece hung and sagged from being weighted with water.

She clutched her top closed at the collar and made sure nothing was visible.

His hand grabbed for her hand and yanked it straight.

"What the fuck?" She yelled as he pulled the gauze around her intravenous port off.

"Do you listen to anything?"

He seemed ticked off by the fact that she had stabbed him, in retrospect she decided maybe she shouldn't have done it because his fingers dug into her arm and when he had enough of a grip her yanked the port out of her arm.

"Hey, shit!"

He dropped the IV catheter on the floor, droplets of blood running out of the tubing and the hole in her arm trickling weakly. "Relax, it'll heal."

It did. She ripped off her other bandage and stared hard at the unblemish skin of her elbow. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The bite!" Her voice was loud in the small bathroom.

"It healed."

"How?"

"You changed. In the tub, when you were drowning your body stopped fighting it."

"What 'it?'"

"The change."

"What. Fucking. Change," she annunciated hard so he would understand the gravity of the question and stop being nonchalant.

"The change that makes you one of us."

"One of us what?"

"What did it look like to you?"

"…" She didn't answer because she had been hallucinating, residual effects of the fever and loss of oxygen.

"Werewolf." The word hung between them the moment his mouth let it go, she gaped and he stared.

"You are fucking nuts," she confirmed rising from the floor and placing a bloody hand against the wall for support.

He rose from the floor and towered over her.

"Really?" He asked, as if the whole thing was amusing.

"Yes, fucking _really_," she sneered backing up a step.

His face changed, his nails lengthened and then in a flash the façade of a human face returned. "Not nuts now."

"I'm hallucinating," she rubbed at her eye sockets and realized that her brow line wasn't swollen anymore. Her fingers went to her mouth and found that the split in it was gone.

It wasn't in the mirror when she turned to look at herself.

"Convenient explanation, you're not though. Sorry."

"This can't be happening right now, it's crazy."

Her eyes caught his in the mirror.

"It's true."

"Werewolves aren't real."

She leaned back against the wall and slid down until her butt hit the wet floor.

"They are," he insisted.

"Bullshit, she mumbled into her knees.

"If you say so. What would I know?"

"Don't patronize me." She looked up at him with clenched teeth.

"Don't say things that are stupid," he countered.

"It's not stupid, werewolves aren't real. Where are you going?"

He walked around her and out of the bathroom, yanking a towel off the rack as he went it slapped her in the face, not turning when he placed a hand on the frame and tilted his head to the side to say, "When you're done having an identity crisis come find me in the kitchen."

It took her awhile to pull herself together.

Lucette got up and got changed leaving the bedroom floor a working study of mess, her night-stand drawer lay shattered from where she yanked it out in the rush for her gun, the extra box of bullets had exploded everywhere, wet clothes were dropped and left in a tangled mass.

She tread careful into the bathroom, avoiding the best she could the puddles of water and congealing blood and broken pieces of the soap dish and her cosmetic collection, she noticed with absolute disdain that her toothbrush sat in the wastebasket on top of used toilet paper.

Using the rest of the toilet roll to mop up blood and flushing the globbed up sheets away and mopping up the water with her remaining color coordinated towel she tidied up.

Broken pressed powders went into the garbage, her toothbrush stayed where she found it; she pulled the plug up in the bathtub and watched the water swirl away and scowled at the broken tiles on the shower wall that she'd have to replace.

He was sitting at her kitchen table glaring at her dog through the pane glass of the back door; Brigadier did not seem at all pleased by the arrangement.

"I'm letting him in." She received no response and opened the door. Catching the canine's collar before he got close enough to the man at her table she yanked and gave a hushed command, "_Gloss_."

The large animal looked up at her, sullen it seemed to be told to leave the intruder be.

"_Scratch._"

Her tone was firm and the animal whined as if afraid, as if she'd yelled and had smacked him in the head, but it left the room all the same, but not before looking at her and flinching when she let go of his collar.

Derek Hale said nothing.

Lucette sat down across from him and grabbed her pack of cigarettes, she lit one and tossed the lighter down.

He looked at her Zippo and after a moment took a cigarette for himself.

She blew out lazily into his face; he turned and regarded her with a scowl. "If we heal how come you needed me to help you that night?"

She took a drag and waited.

"Bigger wounds take longer to heal, so do deeper ones, you heal the most vital things first like organs before muscle and skin."

"Can we heal anything?"

He exhaled and eyed her carefully, "Is this a specific question?"

"No. Just like can we grow things back, like if you had a kidney removed or severed a limb?"

"No," he answered taking a drag and dropping ashes onto her table. "Limbs don't regenerate, we can bring back tissue that hasn't been dead for long, like frost-bite but we can't heal tissue that isn't there."

She pondered the idea and looked out the window to her right in the small breakfast nook, the sky was lightening. The florescent green numbers on her stove said it was a quarter to six.

"At what point is the damage so bad you can't heal it? Like if you shredded a lung does it just heal what it can and slough off what is already too dead?"

She asked suddenly so tired.

"If it's going to cause the whole thing to die, than yes. That's how it works." There were signs of fatigue in the way he sat across the table, slumped the tiniest of bits, his eyes heavy.

"What if you already have like half a liver, will it grow back the other half, since there's still other liver cells?"

"No."

"Okay." She was relieved and ran a palm across her denim covered hip on instinct. He stared at her and flicked ash.

"That was a specific line of questioning, do you only have one kidney or half a liver?"

"Something like that," she answered quickly with a billow of blue smoke tumbling over her teeth.

"What?"

She didn't feel like answering his questions.

"I don't have a pancreas," she joked.

"…okay." He paused and looked out the window not knowing she was making a stab at humor.

"You're dumb." His head swiveled and he stabbed out his cigarette on the table in an act of petty anger, "…"

"You can't survive without a pancreas." She stared at the burned table top and wondered how she was going to fix it.

"Are you done?"

"With that," she smiled grimly at him taking a final drag.

"Any more questions?" He spoke to her back when she threw her cigarette into the sink and ran water over it.

"Yes."

"Then ask." He was waspish.

"I'm thinking."

"…"

She leaned into the counter and crossed her arms, looking down at her toes. "Why is my dog acting weird, do I smell different or something?"

"Sort of."

"'Sort of' yes or 'sort of' no?" She met his eyes for a moment before he looked back out the window at the sunrise.

"Animals can sense when they're prey."

"So my dog thinks I'm going to hunt it down."

"No. He's probably confused as to why you suddenly just…," he paused and waved a hand looking for a suitable term.

"Upgraded?" She supplied with a mumble.

"Whatever."

"So what I'm like an even bigger alpha dog than I was in relation to before with my dog?"

"You're not an alpha."

"I meant in this comparison."

"Simply put, I guess. You're just a different creature now to the dog."

Her coffee pot was still on; she poured what was left in a dirty mug and let it burn the inside of her throat. "What rank am I in werewolf, what are you?"

"I'm a beta."

"So what does that make me, an omega?"

"You're probably a low ranking beta, if you were an omega you wouldn't have growled at me."

"Comforting." It wasn't, not really, cold comfort at most not like the real soothing kind she wanted.

"Anything else?"

She eyed the shattered mug on the other side of the kitchen from before. "If you're a higher rank than me shouldn't my dog act the same around you? Is this some Freudian odiepedal thing where I'm the mom and he's the son and you're the dad and it's competitionary?"

He looked at her like she was insane, he hadn't gotten the question.

"Can you speak understandably? You're dog is deferring to you, as a pack member would. I'm an outsider so he regards me with suspicion and aggression."

"Thank god."

She decided that if her dog was trying to fight over her with Derek Hale she might as well jump off her roof. Silence came up between them, like a wall.

"Questions?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking again."

"I don't have all night," he told her tapping his fingers on the table.

"It's not night anymore anyway, shut up I'm trying to process things."

"By all means take your time," he put on airs when he said it.

"Thanks."

"…" He ignored her sarcasm.

"So anything I should know?"

"Like what?"

"Well, what's the full moon do?"

"You'll be more aggressive. The shift will be harder to control. Things like that."

She wondered what the 'things like that,' meant. A thought hit her unbidden and unwanted and altogether embarrassing, she asked anyway, bumbling over her words. "What about…hmmm, do werewolves go into heat like real wolves."

"All female mammals go into some form of heat." He seemed to spit out the answer, trying to finish the line of questioning fast.

"So it will be like normal then. Like libido going up during a woman's normal reproductive cycle."

"No."

Lucette threw up her hands and made a sound in her throat that she hoped belayed frustration. "Then what?"

"Do I look like a female to you?"

She made a point not to shoot back something sarcastic or crude.

"No, but don't you know any female werewolves?"

"My sister, my mother, and a cousin were the only ones I've met and I didn't exactly broach the subject of their libidos with them."

"Well what happened when it did happen to them."

No, Derek Hale seemed not to like these types of questions at all. Probably because it made him uncomfortable, she figured that it wasn't exactly a feeling he felt a lot. Good, she thought. She relished his discomfort.

"Aggression, irritability, things you learn to ignore."

"Like what?" She pressed gripping the edge of the sink behind her and staring forward at the wall not wanting to look at him while talking about were-libido.

"Smells."

Her face scrunched up at the one word answer, "Am I going to be able to smell other people's sex drives?"

She was thoroughly disgusted by the idea, she didn't want to go through life blushing every time she walked by a guy knowing he had just jerked off.

"You're going to smell everything from now on, you live with it. It's not as hard as you think. How long have you smoked?"

"Years."

"You're going to be coughing up tar for the next few days; it'll stick to your teeth unless you put something on them."

"Thanks for the tip. Anything else along those lines worth mentioning?"

She sat back down at the table and put her head on her arms in front of her, weary from the events that had taken place.

"You're going to be able to smell better and see better and take more damage, you'll be stronger. There's not much else."

"What about medications, do they work on us?"

"Not unless we need the boast to heal," he explained reaching for her cigarettes; she scooped them up and warned him not to put it out on the table again.

"Just healing?"

She lit another for herself and took lazy drags.

"And other things, you probably can't get drunk anymore unless you have a whole bottle."

"That's unfortunate."

"Female werewolves don't have litters," he rattled off looking like he was just trying to find facts to throw at her and keep her from asking anymore uncomfortable questions.

"Wasn't planning on popping out any babies."

"Birth control has less effectiveness, but there's no real need for it, you're body will know when it can get pregnant."

"Not on it."

"I know." The admission made her cough on smoke, she thumped her chest and stared at him with wide eyes, "You know?"

He turned to look across the kitchen.

"You can smell it. Hormones have their own _presence_ not a smell or a taste but you know when they're there and when they're not and what's not normal."

"That'd be cooler to think about if I wasn't so skeeved out by it," she mused.

"Why?"

"The thought of someone smelling my hormones is going to take some getting used to."

"Your's aren't normal," he told her. She knew.

"Thanks."

"You're deficient."

She pointed her cigarette at him, "You're lacking tact."

Derek Hale just shrugged and looked completely nonplussed buy the accusation. "Most women your age have higher levels of female hormones."

"Birth control is extra estrogen, it tricks your body into thinking you're pregnant so you don't ovulate. I know, I have a whole textbook I had to read about it most woman have higher levels because their on it at this age."

"You don't have enough, in _either _case."

"What's it like to smell things like that?" She hoped the question would bring him off the topic of her smelling weird.

"It's an awareness of how another animal will predictably behave."

"That's not as skeevy of a reason as what I thought you might say."

He looked like he was suddenly trying to puzzle something out, "Or you're testosterone is higher than normal."

"It's not, it's a comparative increase." She explained hoping the answer and the way she said it would bring the issue to a close.

"…"

The silence felt suffocating. She huffed and sighed propping her chin on her fist and closing her eyes as she supplied him with a breakdown of the subject.

"Before kids hit puberty their level of male and female hormones are about level regardless of gender. Once puberty hits they increase, respectively. Testosterone doesn't spike like that in girls, in a lab report on me the level would be in normal range with estrogen being below where it should be or at best a low normal."

"How come?"

"Don't know," she shrugged. "Everyone has different body chemistry."

"You're lying."

She rolled her eyes and lied again. "Okay I'm an effeminate man."

"…"

"I have a chromosomal defect." Lie.

"Better, your heartbeat didn't skip, it just increased that time."

"My lack of female hormones is none of your business, were not pals, _hun_. You don't get rights to my life history," she said pointedly, pointing again with her cigarette and taking a long drag after finishing the motion.

"_Fine_. I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow. Some time, I don't know specifically. '_Hun_,'" He mocked.

He got up and walked to the back door.

"I'll be here." She didn't look behind her at him.

"Good."

Another question came to mind as he turned the handle; she leaned back in her chair and tilted her head back.

"What's up with the gym wear?"

It looked wrong on him, too big almost, the ragged holes his arms came out of were too long and showed too much skin, too much muscle, she stared for a moment and put herself in check and ended the thought angry that at some point she'd been staring close enough to notice.

"Didn't want to have my scent tracked."

"By who."

"My uncle."

She turns around in her chair surprised by the answer, "He's not dead?"

"No."

"Is he a werewolf too?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?" He looks incredulous, like she's the dumbest person he's ever met in his life.

"Okay, that's a yes. Why don't you want him tracking you?"

"Because if he did and found you he'd kill you _or_ make you kill everyone you have a connection with in order to get you on his side."

"…," there are no words to describe the way panic feels then when she's feeling things so much more fully, so sharply. She knows then that her body is different, she had changed in some horrible way that she wants nothing to do with. Her fear is primal.

"What?" It's like he's noticed her fear.

"Why?" Her voice is strained.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, don't leave the house."

"What about my job?"

"Quit. He thinks you're dead, if he goes back to the hospital and sees you there's nothing I'd be able to do. It's better that he thinks you're dead."

"Why does he think I'm dead?"

"He thought you were a night nurse."

"Oh. So-…"

"I have to go. I've stayed too long. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Okay. Go before you give away my super secret location," she commanded wryly and without humor in her tone, knowing that the joke was stupid but trying anyway to lighten the mood.

The door clicked shut in response.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** On the topic of how Jennifer killed the nurses, it's not canon but what actually happened before Derek and Stiles got to the nursing home isn't really touched upon. Haldol can cause a severe drop in blood pressure and cardiac arrhythmias which can lead to death; an AED is an portable shock device to stabilize a heart rhythm.

Ventricular tachycardia is when the ventricles of the heart, the parts that shuttle blood out of the heart contract too fast and not enough blood is going out because the chambers aren't being allowed to fill up sufficiently, Ventricular fibrillation is similar but more serious, it's when the ventricles "shiver" and blood doesn't pump out at all.

The "thump" mentioned is a Precordial Thump which can be done once if an AED is not on hand in an effort to jump start the heart, it usually is ineffective but it's better than nothing. Epinephrine can jumpstart the heart from a flat line state aka asystole, but most facilities have a limit on how many doses you can give that's why the nurse tells Lucette 'last one,' in reference to the second shot.

An AMBU bag is used for resuscitation it pump air into the body. CPR guidelines are currently thirty chest compressions and two rescue breaths in a cycle, and it's hard to do for a long period of time, nurses usually have to switch with someone because it's very tiring. A saline lock is an IV line that looks like a knob outside of the skin that you inject medication into. Intravenous lines are inserted with a needle to puncture the vein and a small tube, a catheter, is threaded into the vein, the needle is then removed and the tube remains in the vein.

The discussion on hormones was pretty self-explanatory besides the lack of an answer to why Lucette has an imbalance. Props if someone makes the connection, it's not hard to make if you've been paying attention to the story thus far, go ahead jump to your conclusion.

Long side note. My apologies.


	7. The Persiflage

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual innuendo

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N:** The finale was good for this story and bad for me. Bad for me because it meant I had to go back to the drawing board on how the story rolls along and eventually ends, but it actually made me think up some things I never would have come up with if season one didn't end the way it did, so it made my brain go into overtime a little bit but in the end everything isn't thrown through too big a loop, thank god. This chapter takes place between episodes nine and ten.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 47:<strong>

It's instantaneous, the way her thoughts connect with the bridge between them being the recalled memory of his voice explaining the upgraded healing process to her.

Her joints are swollen with blood and they protest movement with a hellish onslaught of discomfort and nerve searing pain at the simplest and least strenuous motions she tries to will her muscle into, there are hot knives in her bones, burning and searing away at the marrow, the growth plates, the length of her skeletal system.

The brilliant flaring purple and spotted blue of hideous bruising spans her hips, lower back and groin and the metal holding her pelvis together is grinding with every step and sway.

Blood has stained through the grey of her sweatpants and she cries out when her skin pops open like a long fingernail through the skin of a fruit and metal pushes out in the tiniest of measurable increments.

She chokes on the cushion she worries with her teeth.

Her thoughts swim around, muddled and melting from the agony of the slow process, she wants to pass out, she wants to cut herself in half, destroy her spinal cord and stop the spasms making her legs twitch like someone is tap dancing on her nerve fibers with cleats on.

Bliss comes when she finally finds a way to wedge her hips into the corner of the couch and the agony dulls to a heavy lashing throb, she sleeps for three hours and is woken when the spasms start again and her legs twitch, she screams out between teeth clenched so tight her ear drums shake and a rumble starts from them that reverberates through her skull.

In her mind she makes mental list of all the pain killers she can remember and then one of antispasmodics.

She needed something that would numb her or knock her out or make her lower body feel like it had evaporated. Her cell phone was within reach and she thumbed through the electronic phone book until she found the number she wanted.

"Hello?"

The accent was familiar and made her smile, "Doctor Yhun?"

"Yes."

"This is Lucette."

There was the inhale of recognition over the line.

"Oh, Lucette. Hello, how have you been, how's your father?"

"He doing very well, thank you. I called to ask you a question actually," she evened her tone and wiped at her bleary eyes.

"Alright, what's your question?"

"Well I was wondering what the chances of my pins shifting were."

The set-up was done, now all there was left was a few convincing sounds of pain which she didn't even have to fake and a well placed lie.

"Slight, unless there's been force applied, but most likely you would know if one slipped." He answered sounding concerned. Good, she thought.

"Would I be having spasms?"

"Are you having spasms right now?" His question was colored with something closer to quiet worry than plain concernedness.

"Yes."

"Did something happen?"

"I missed the last step of my porch, I didn't have much pain at first but it feels like it's getting worse."

"When did this happen?"

"About three days ago."

"Are you still in state or are you working?"

There it was, she grinned into a couch cushion, she was golden and the explanation was swallowed without any disbelief or question.

"I'm working, in California."

"Where?"

"Beacon Hills."

"Hold on a second," the sound of a chair rolling and keyboarding replaced words for a moment. "Okay are you working in the hospital?"

"The nursing home that's attached."

"Alright I'm going to phone in an order of Soma for you. I'll make sure they give you an order for an x-ray. Can you drive right now?"

"No."

"Can you have someone pick it up for you?"

"I'll give my unit's charge nurse a call and ask her to get it to me."

"That should be fine, get me an employee I.D. number and I'll phone it in, it should be ready in the next few hours."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, I want you under that machine as soon as possible and I want the x-ray sent over if something looks off to you, okay?"

"Okay," she replied meekly.

"Everything else alright, any pelvic pain besides?"

"No, just the usual. The bleeding is the same as always."

"Good. I hope you feel better, call me if you have any escalating pain."

"I will, thanks again. I'll get the x-ray done pronto and give you a ring."

"Good."

"Bye, doc."

"Bye bye, now."

She ended the call and made another to the nursing home.

"Beacon Hills long term care facility how may I help you?" The receptionist greeted her robotically.

"Hello this is Lucette; I'm a nurse for the day shift is Trish available?"

"Hold for a moment."

"Alright."

The waiting music played for a few lines of song before the line started ringing again. "Hello?"

"Hey Trish."

"Hey what's up?"

"I need a favor."

"What?"

"I need you to pick up a prescription for me at the pharmacy in a few hours, I can't drive right now. My doctor is phoning the order in for me."

"What prescription."

"It's for muscle spasms."

"From what?"

"I broke some bones and had to be in traction awhile ago, and I just fell down my front steps and shifted something."

"It is not your month at all is it?" The older nurse commented.

"Bad karma catching up I guess."

"Okay, you need my info?"

"Yeah," she said ready to get down to business. "Badge number and name but I can send you my doctor's number if you want."

"No, it's alright. Got a pen?"

"Yeah." She reached over for one off the coffee table and uncapped it with her teeth to write on her hand.

"Okay, eight, five, five, one, eight, four, five, three, two. Got it?"

"Yup. There should also be an x-ray order to pick up."

"Okay, I get off at six today. I'll drive by your house and drop it off. You going to be home?"

"Trust me I'm not going anywhere."

"Lotta pain?"

"Bearable but not if it gets worse, my doc just wants me to take it easy."

"If you need time off gimme a call. But I should let you know that an agency rep was here earlier and was talking to the director."

"My agency?" The notion was strange.

"Uh-huh."

"For what?"

"What do you think?"

"Shit, Trish. You know what that means?" She did and the idea made her strangle a sound of frustration deep in her throat.

"That you're going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out."

"Bad karma, I'm cursed."

"You must have made someone angry."

"I must have been evil in a past life."

"Ha. You? Evil? Naw."

"Goodbye, Trish."

"See you later."

Lucette tossed her phone onto the table after sending off a message with the needed information to her doctor and tried to find a new spot to burrow in that didn't make her want to rip out her own spine.

She wondered if she ever would have heard him come in if her hearing hadn't evolved into something so superhuman that she could concentrate on a deer milling about in the park grounds and hear every chewing sound it made as if she had her face right up next to its mouth, which was exactly what she had resorted to doing to distract herself from the idea that her pelvis was ripping itself apart.

Her dog heard him after she did and trotted to the base of the stairs, she couldn't see the animal but could visualize how it looked when it growled deep in its chest at the man coming out of a room on the second floor.

"Brigs, rally."

It took him longer than it normally did to click over the wood floor to where she lay on the couch.

"Scratch," she commanded pointing a finger at the bedroom door. He trotted off.

There was silence, though she knew the man at the top of the stairs was still there. Waiting or listening for some reason she wasn't privy to.

"Is this a test? I know you're standing up there, I can hear you breathing and I can hear your pulse, want me to tap out the rhythm so you know I'm not lying?"

She smiled wryly to herself and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"You're not lying," he stated walking forward and pausing a few steps down the staircase.

Lucette couldn't see him but the fact that he wasn't doing much of anything besides show up was irritating.

"What are you _doing_, studying the wood grain?" Even to her it sounded snooty and bratty.

"What happened?"

He still hadn't moved and it was making her edgier with every syllable they spoke to each other without actually looking at each other.

"Nothing happened," she grimaced when she tried to sit up and crane her neck to see up the staircase from the other end of the couch she was pushing herself towards.

"I can smell blood, and your heartbeat and breathing are too fast," she heard his soles slap down the stairs as she slid her way to the other end of the couch with her eyes dampening from the strain on her lower body as she dragged it heavily.

"That tends to happen when you're in severe pain; it's called a sympathetic response," she hissed up the stairs when she could finally make out his ankles and calves.

"You're in pain?"

He shot down the stairs at a pace fast enough that it hurt when she snapped her neck around to watch him come into the living room.

"…"

Derek Hale was an imposing sight with his height and stiff leather jacket and tightly clenched jaw standing there in the middle of her living room staring at her like she'd done something incredibly bad.

"What happened?"

Her muscles tensed and she pressed her spine into the back of the couch hard in a effort to keep him out of her space as he came striding towards her and leaned down all angry eyes and grinding teeth.

"Nothing," she started before a hand reached down and yanked on the elastic of her sweatpants. "Hey!" She yelled and slapped as he wrestled them down to mid thigh and just stared at the horrifying purple and black underneath, it was horribly embarrassing to have a man she didn't really know yank down her pants and stare at her with only her underwear keeping some of her dignity intact.

She couldn't smother the choking gurgle of pain that bubbled up from her when a finger pressed hard at her hip.

He snapped his gaze up to her face and the hard expression didn't so much as soften as it melted back to disinterest, he stepped back and she rolled her pants back up with a glare.

"What happened?"

"No. Thing." She annunciated closing her eyes and tilting back her head to clear the sharpness of her thoughts the pain had caused.

"Something happened."

His shoes were dirty and old; the rubber soles were curling away at the toes she noticed not feeling any desire to look at his face.

"This happened," she waved a hand over her lower body and legs watching him take a seat in a chair at the other end of the couch.

"What is this?" He waved as he sat back, not relaxing but settling into the leather of the chair. "Did you fall off a building?"

Pursing her lips and biting her cheek in leashed fury at the quip she took a breath through her nose and tried to calm down before she started to cry from a mix of pain and aggravation, it would not do to start crying.

"Yeah that's kind of a hobby of mine, falling off buildings. No, of course not!" Her volume was soft but every word was hard and mean.

He gripped the leather arms with his fingers and crossed an ankle over his knee, "You have internal bleeding."

The statement grated on her nerves.

"Duh. I _know_. I'm still a nurse, remember."

The response seemed funny to him, "What did you do?"

"Nothing." She let her head fall back onto the arm of the couch and clenched her eyes shut tightly and dug her nails into her palms, a lashing of hot pain washed through her thighs and knees. "I guess I'm just healing, again."

"Well how did you get to the point where you needed to_ have_ to heal?"

"It's old. It's been like this for awhile, I thought it was just because I was still sore from running or working too hard."

"Oh," the surprised sound made her open her eyes and look at him. "An _old_ injury." He nodded to himself.

"Yeah," she blinked confused that his mood was suddenly so different, that he was all of a sudden so relaxed.

"…"

He didn't explain anything. There was a heavy pulse in her hips that made her think of concert speakers with heavy bass.

"Can you fill up my bathtub with cold water?"

"…"

For a moment he seemed to consider the statement instead of actually intending to do something about it. Lucette watched a tendon in his neck jerk when he turned his head to look at the bathroom door and then back to her.

When he got up and did as she asked she realized she'd been watching his carotid artery jump with each heartbeat for some amount of time. It made her feel weird to be able to see things like that now.

"Thanks."

The water rushing out was loud and he shut the door on it, muffling the sound when he came back to the chair, "Mhmm."

"Do you enjoy talking without words?"

He didn't answer, though she didn't think she would answer either if someone asked a question with the tone she just used.

"How long are you going to be here, in my house?"

"Awhile."

"How long is 'awhile?' Don't say 'awhile,'" she warned.

He sighed and rolled his head back before pulling it up again and staring at the window behind her.

"For an undecided length of time."

"Specific," she deadpanned.

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of. Can you stay or do you have to run off in ten minutes to have a group meeting about werewolf things with the rest of the pack, or whatever, traveling circus act, clique, posse, whatever?"

There was a tick in his jaw that happened whenever he clenched his teeth and she noticed it happened the more condescendingly she spoke to him.

"No. There's nothing that needs my attention tonight."

"So you can stay." She simplified.

"Why would I?"

There was a challenge is the way he spoke, as if she had to have a good enough reason for his presence to be so graced upon her.

"Because I can't walk right now," she snapped waspishly at him.

"You can't?" He seemed surprised.

"No."

"…"

"I'm bleeding into my joints."

"Oh."

She didn't like that he stared at her with something in his gaze that made her think of the way people looked at dead animals on the side of the road.

Pity. Acceptance of the unfair fate bestowed upon small animals.

"Is the tub full yet?"

He got up and turned off the water.

"Can you stand?"

"Not on my own."

He took off his jacket and laid it on the chair, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt he came over to the couch. He lifted her up from under her arms and carried her like a baby to the bathroom, it was a surreal experience.

"Wait, don't just put me in," she squeaked when he looked down into the tub and then at her legs to figure out how to get her it.

"Then why did you have me fill it?" He asked after setting her down on the tub ledge. She winced at the pressure it put on her hips.

"I mean, grab my pants," she stopped to quell the sudden look of "guy" panic in his expression. "_Just _the pants."

He pulled the pants over her ankles and she lifted her hips so he could just yank them off from his crouch at her feet, "Thanks."

"Uh-huh. How did you break your pelvis? Car accident?"

He lifted her again and looked over her shoulder to dangle her feet up and over the ledge, she dug her nails into his shoulders and inhaled air from around his neck, sweat and hair gel was the whiff she got off him unintentionally.

Her toes touched the bottom and she held on to his shoulders and arms as she slid down into the water, slamming a hand onto the wall and the edge of the tub when she realized that if she kept sliding down she'd have his groin in her face.

It wasn't exactly something she found necessary, with a wave from her he stepped back and she settled her hips below the water and let out a small sound of displeasure for the temperature.

"When I was nine I fell out of a tree and shattered it."

She put her weight on her knees and popped her hips back and her chest over the tub edge while he sat on the closed toilet and stared out into the living room.

"And they had to take out your…," he gestured to his pelvis looking uncomfortable with the idea of surgeons taking out her reproductive organs.

"One ovary and most of my uterus, I still have the other and my cervix is intact," a look of disbelief crossed over his features. "What?"

"You bleed."

"Yes, I am. Internally at the moment. Thanks for clarifying the already simple statement that I understood the first time."

"You_ bleed_ as in menstruate."

"No I don't."

She didn't.

"_No_? You were, at the nursing home that night. You can't have a period without a uterus."

"You're right you can't have one without a uterus hence why I don't have one."

She wondered why he seemed so pissed off, like he was arguing with a child.

"You just contradicted yourself," he informed her running out of patience.

"I'm not arguing with you, alright? It's not a period, not really. Sort of since my ovary still releases hormones in a cycle, the way every woman's ovaries do."

"…"

"When the hormones are released they prime an egg for ovulation and those hormones increase vascularity and soften the tissues that are around like the uterus or the fallopian tubes and the ovaries, etcetera."

"Okay, so?" He widened his eyes and shook his head like what she was saying was completely unrelated to the topic at hand.

"Since I was so young when it happened my scar tissue is vascularized and blood permeates out. Like if you give someone a hickey over an artery and blood breaks through the surface of the skin because you suck too hard. So I bleed but it's not a real period in the sense that a uterine lining is being shed. There's no excess tissue be passed, just blood."

"Hmmm," he looked down at her staring at him with an expression of exasperation, "What?" he asked.

"Nothing I just explained that whole thing and all you say is 'hmmm,' it's annoying." She pursed her lips and sighed, putting her head on her crossed arms and looking at the floor.

"That's not exactly my problem."

She rolled her eyes. "Does me talking bother you?"

"It could start to."

She waved her head back and forth on her arms in a way that she hoped conveyed the sentiment that she found him extremely childish.

"Well if we just sit here and don't say anything I'm going to be thinking about how much this fucking hurts, so I'm just going to talk. You don't have to answer me; I'm not really talking _to _you, just _at_ you."

And in fact she realized she was talking at the floor more than at him.

"…"

"I'd talk to my dog but he's been acting skittish."

"…"

She wondered if he just realized she was intentionally saying that talking to him was like talking to her dog, but less fun.

"I was lucky, ya know? Some people have to be on dialysis for the rest of their lives because they ruin their kidneys…, or they have to piss in a bag because they damage their bladder."

"…"

"I thought it really was just because I went running and then had to work that night with the emergency thing because it usually only hurts if I do too much and it takes a lot to get to that point, if it rains it hurts or if I'm tired and have to work, things like that."

"Like arthritis."

He talks, she thought with a mental huff.

"Yeah I guess I'm just an old lady."

"…"

And then he's as conversating as a cabbage, she corrected her previous thought.

"But there's no nerve damage and I managed to not fuck up my growth plate."

"…"

"I could have ended up with baby legs," she raised her head to make a hand gesture denoting the idea of having tiny short legs and a normal sized torso. "Or not being able to have sensation in places where it's kind of important to have sensation."

"…you don't have to mime that, I get what you mean," he waved off with uneasiness in his expression.

"Sorry, yeah. So they took out the wiring after two years and then added some more pins and another plate when I finished growing. The last surgery they had to reposition the way some hardware was sitting on top of this joint because I had started limping," she pointed to her left side.

"How many pins do you have?"

"Fourteen and then the two plates."

"How many have come out?"

"Three." She banged her head on the tub edge in frustration.

"You're bleeding internally."

"I know, again."

He had only told her twice already, she swore to throw a shampoo bottle at him if he said it again.

"That's why it's going so slow."

"Because otherwise the healing process would kill me."

"Yes."

She raised her eyes to look at his face. He was staring ahead of himself and then out of the open doorway, she didn't think she'd ever met someone so socially inept before.

"You're hormones might make certain things I told you a little bit different."

Her stomach bottom out in dread. "Like the thing about growing organs back?"

"No. Definitely no."

She sighed in relief, she didn't really want to wake up the next morning with another ovary and a uterus, it would have put another ding in her life plan more than the supernatural creature thing already had, and she really did not want to have to suddenly worry about having up and running baby making bits.

"So then the _heat_ thing?"

"Yes."

"I won't get it?"

"No. You'll get it. Probably," he shrugged. "The possibility is the same as before."

Not a quantitative problem then she thought, but a qualitative one, "I'll get it worse."

"Maybe."

She worked out why in her head.

"Because my testosterone level's comparatively high."

"Yes."

When they didn't speak for awhile she began itching to fill up the silence with something other than the sound of water moving and their breathing.

"Did you know that men have ten times the amount of testosterone that women do, but that testosterone affects woman more profoundly? That's why sex experts recommend exercise as a way to jump start libido after menopause."

"No."

"Did you also know that close bonding and a paternal role lowers a man's testosterone?"

"No."

"Did you know that I am in severe physical pain?"

"I had no idea."

"Well I am in severe physical pain."

"What am _I_ supposed to do about that?"

"You couldn't just yank the pins out for me could you?"

"No."

"If there anything you can do?"

"Like what?"

"Make shadow puppets, or do a little dance, or go out and raid a liquor store."

His expression seemed practically paternal in its unspoken displeasure. "Getting drunk will only slow the whole process down. So does sitting in ice water."

"I won't care, I'll be drunk. In fact there's whiskey in the kitchen, fetch."

"Get it yourself."

"Ha ha. You're_ so_ funny. My knees hurt."

They did, the tub floor was hard and cold and her legs were cramping up.

"Then sit down."

"I can't, I have pins in my ischial spines. Those are the bones you sit on."

When he got up she realized she had won the argument.

"Here."

He placed the bottle of booze on the floor within reach of her.

"Thanks."

"How bad is it?" He asked after she had a few swigs and felt the warm heat drift down into her stomach and through her limbs.

She tried to think up a gruesome comparison, it didn't take long.

"Imagine that you have a hematoma in each testicle, and that this hematoma has caused them both to swell to the size of a large orange and then imagine that someone has decided to kick you in your giant hematoma orange balls."

"That's elaborate."

"It's what happens to men who break their pelvis a lot of the time."

She heard him sniff the air and then swivel his head to look over her at the water. Instantly she regretted that she was wearing white cotton panties.

"One's about to come out."

"Uh-huh."

She groaned when she felt it.

"Where is it?"

She pointed at her right hip and he reached into the water and dug it out with a fast but no less excruciating yank, "Ahhhh."

"Ten more to go." He held up the metal fixture and dropped it into the tub, his teeth were very white to her and his smile would have been a winning one if she hadn't wanted to knock it off with a hammer.

"Go rip a garbage bag and lay it down on the living room floor."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to get blood on my floor, it's time to get out of the tub. Put towels down on top of it, the garbage bags are under the sink."

He did as she asked and came back looking at her, examining the situation.

"Do you need help?"

She snorted inelegantly and he came over and put his hands under her arms and started to lift her out.

"Don't touch my legs, _at all_."

She would have added a cursory warning about staring at her see through underwear but it seemed obvious enough and she'd rather ignore the fact since he hadn't already brought it up.

Her blood rushed to her head when he tipped her over his shoulder and walked out of the room.

"Can you stand?"

His breath was hot against her goosebumped thigh; she felt his muscles jerk under her stomach fast when he realized he had turned his head to talk and that he realized he was speaking to her ass.

It made her have to choke down a laugh.

"On my toes, leaning forward, with support, for like a second."

When he put her down and she steadied herself she caught the embarrassed pursing of his mouth and the shift of his eyes.

"How are you going to lay?"

"Stomach. Pillow?"

He leaned back to reach for one off the couch, her toes slid against the wood floor with the swaying movement, he dropped it and pushed it with his foot to where she wanted it.

She laid down with her stomach on the pillow and her hips raised. He laid a towel over her and she offered begrudging thanks, trying very hard to not think about what parts of her he'd seen.

"Worse?" He seemed only mildly concerned but it was alright, she didn't care.

"Got a buzz now, so no. Whiskey, remote, no talking."

He sat in the chair again and she turned on a made for TV movie about highschool and teenagers getting knocked-up. It was halfway over but there was nothing else on.

It finished and she turned to a show about home renovation, after the thirty minute show she felt the stabbing of a pin in her groin, she dropped the remote in favor of swigging back whiskey like a grizzled arctic crab fisherman man might have done on his only week off from the treacherous seas.

She bit into the meat of her arm and ground the skin between her teeth.

"Where's this one coming out?"

With a sucking pop she let her arm go and gave a glance to the red circle and teeth crenulations left behind, "How do you know when they're coming out?"

"The blood smells fresher."

"Makes sense. Just leave it; it's not in the best spot."

"Alright."

She banged her toes up and down on the floor and whined against her arm, crying and wincing as the pin pinched every nerve around it on its way out.

There was one moment when she thought to just ignore the embarrassment and let him pull it out but she never relented to the urge, she still had her pride and she kept it until the worst was through and a Disney movie on a kids channel had her singing along with the musical scenes for the following two hours.

"Someone's in your driveway."

Halfway through her off-key sing along she realized that someone had just shifted into park; she breathed her thanks into the floor and smiled.

"Yeah, she's dropping off something for me. Go get my robe; it's on the-…"

"Bathroom door."

He was already up and getting it. He helped her up and she yanked the robe on and wiped away the blood on her legs with a rag he dropped on the floor next to her.

"Okay, I can lean on the door frame while she talks, I'll just power through it."

"…"

"Don't give me that look, I'm not a child. Try not to let her see you, you are still a fugitive right?"

"…"

"Okay, that's a yes. Help me."

She made it to the door as Trish was climbing up her front steps; the woman grinned and closed the space to give Lucette a half-hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Hey," Lucette put on her best smile and gratefully accepted the pharmacy bag from the older nurse.

"Who is that?"

Lucette paled and turned to watched Derek stride across the living room.

"Um, hey babe? Go make coffee will ya," she shouted and gave him a look. "My boyfriend," she added filling the empty space of the doorway with her body and her arms stretching up in a luxurious manner that she hoped looked naturally to block the other woman's view.

"Boyfriend?"

The other woman's eyebrows shot up to her hairline and Lucette wondered if the idea was so unbelievable.

"When I told him about what happened with Jennifer and everything he jumped in the car and drove down here, I told him not to but like he listens to me."

Trish gave her a sympathetic nod and a sly grin.

"Does his top half match the bottom?"

"Huh?"

"He was bending over."

"Oh, yeah. That ass…drew me in with it."

And after a moment of thought she realized it was actually kind of true.

"Well damn. I'd spank that. You're blushing, bet you have, can't blame you."

"Trish," she warned.

"Oh don't give me that tone. Introduce me."

"Ummm, not the best were uh-…"

"Did I interrupt you two, oh my god I am sooo sorry."

She didn't sound sorry.

"No, you didn't…well kind of, but not what you think."

Lucette tried to explain but the other woman just crossed her arms and looked incredulous, "Uh-huh. You're blushing again."

"He was giving me a massage, Trish. I'm in severe pain here, I can't even think about sex right now."

"Massage, huh? Sounds pretty _sexual_ to me. In fact now it makes sense why you're having '_spasms_.'"

Sighing she shrugged and deadpanned, "We humped so hard he broke my pelvis, happy now."

"You'd be more convincing if your face wasn't so red. What's his name?"

"Ehh…," the sounds of something breaking, a dog bark, and a muttered expletive from the kitchen behind her gave her a moment to try and grab a name. Her mind was blank.

"Sounds like your dog doesn't like h-…"

"Dee Jay." She spat out wishing instantly that she could take it back.

"Dee Jay?"

"Initials," she explained. "He hates it when I call him Donald."

"Donald?"

"What?" She faked an unbelieving expression.

"Nothing I was just expecting his name to be more…"

"Sexy?"

"Yeah."

"What's sexier than a man named Donald?"

"Something with rollable R's."

"I can't roll my R's."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing his name is Donald and not Ricardo or Richter."

"Yeah, fantastic really. Can I get back to my massage now?" Her legs were shaking from the strain and her knuckles were turning white on the door frame.

"Lucky girl."

"He's got magic fingers," she wiggled her own.

"I bet he does."

"I hope I'm making you uncomfortable enough to leave, Trish."

"You'll have to try harder than that; I've been married for seven years hun I don't know _how_ to blush anymore."

"Fine I've been a bad girl and I'm late for my spanking."

"That'll do it. See ya later."

"Bye Trish," she called before shutting and locking the door.

"Magic fingers? Really? What are you sixteen?"

She looked over her shoulder and found him leaning on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. She let herself slide to the floor to relieve some of the muscle strain.

"It was all I could think of on the spot, okay?"

"'I'm late for my spanking,' very creative, really." He mocked, viciously amused with the whole thing. She didn't find it very funny at all.

"Shut up, _Dee Jay_. Or your girlfriend will punch you in the fucking mouth."

"'_We humped so hard he broke my pelvis_.'"

She wondered if her voice sounded as shrill as the impersonation.

"It's entirely possible, for your information. Get this off me," she started tugging at the robe.

"…"

"It's my favorite I don't want to get it bloody."

He jerked it off and she sneered up at him when he threw it onto the stairs and helped her back into the living room.

"Anything else?"

"Get me aspirin out of the bathroom cabinet and a glass of water and a spoon."

"What does that do?" He pointed at the pharmacy bag.

"It's called Soma. It's an antispasmodic so it should speed things up."

"How?"

"Muscle spasms happen so bones stay in place, preventing further damage. If there are no spasms then the pins have an easier time coming out."

"Is it controlled?"

"You mean like morphine?"

"Yes, like morphine." He seemed irritated with her asking.

"Jeez. No it's not a controlled substance."

"You don't need a prescription?"

"Of course you do."

"How'd you get one?"

"I called my doctor."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him my pelvis was magically healing because that's what happens when you become a werewolf. I'm not an idiot, I told him I fell and something must have shifted."

"Alright."

She wondered if he thought she was dumb. The notion offended her.

"Oh, and I may piss myself."

"What?"

The horror on his face made her grin.

"Well it will basically paralyze my legs, so worst case I won't be able to feel them at all, which would actually be great but if I can't feel anything then it could happen."

"I am not cleaning anything if you piss on it."

"I don't think it would happen since I don't actually have to pee right now but I thought I'd warn you."

"Thanks."

He didn't sound thankful.

"Yeah, I'll probably seem a little out of it. That's normal."

"How long does it last?"

"A few hours. It takes effect pretty fast."

It did and it was wonderful. She felt absolutely wonderful as she slurred over more Disney musical numbers and every so often it seemed that her antics would cause him to act as if he wanted to rip his own ears off, she felt a perverse sense of glee at the idea.

**Day 48:**

There were only four particularly finicky pins left and one plate. It hurt, but not as badly as before. She limped into her kitchen and made coffee after she woke up early in the morning to find her houseguest was still where she'd seen him last.

When he saw her awake he made a somewhat grating remark that he thought she would never pass out and he'd have to listening to her drunk screeching all night.

He told her after being asked that the worst song rendition was one about making a man out of someone, she hadn't been able to place the reference to any song until he told her it was the one with the Huns and the lizard dragon in China.

When she supplied the title he just shrugged and she sighed, tired and sore, wondering where she left her pants. She found them in the bathroom and scowled at the bloodstains.

"Want coffee?" She called from the kitchen, waiting for a response while tapping her nails on the counter.

"Do you have to yell?"

He stood in the doorway and rubbed at his face. She wondered if he'd gotten any sleep. Waving at the coffee maker after pouring her own she just stood and let herself wake up fully.

"So…," she started casually thinking for a question to ask.

He looked at her with heavy eyes and impatience.

"So, Mr. Hale, what's the deal with Uncle Pete?"

"What about him?"

"Why would he kill me if he knew I was alive?"

She sipped her coffee.

"He might kill you," he paused and tilted his head as if weighing the likelihood of the idea, "more likely he'd ruin your life to try and assimilate you into the pack."

"So he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No."

"Are you part of his pack?"

"Yes."

"Two people aren't really a pack if you ask me. That's like a super duo."

"It's not just me."

"There's someone besides me?" She hadn't thought there was anyone besides her.

"Yes."

"You two make a habit out of just going around biting people?" She snipped after another sip.

"I don't," he stared at her.

"Good for you," she looked down at her feet. "Who's the other person?"

"…"

She understood what the silence meant. "Ahh, better if I don't know then?"

"Yes, much better," he confirmed.

"So I'm the only girl…werewolf?"

"Not in the whole world, in this town yes."

"Okay. So what happens now? What's my whole role in the world of werewolves? Do I have to join a pack or file a claim, what?"

"As long as no one knows you're one of us then you won't have to worry about a pack trying to get you to assimilate in."

"What's the deal with you and your uncle? He's the alpha and you're the beta and then what?"

"He's got his goals and I have mine."

"Which are?" She pressed the issue.

"Not something you have to worry about."

"He _bit_ me."

"And?"

The statement shocked her a bit, "That's not enough?"

"No, it's not."

She nodded in acceptance that she wasn't going to get an answer from the pity perspective. "Are you a psycho killer?"

"I've never killed anyone."

"Who did?"

"…"

Silence left a gap for her to fill. He looked thoughtful and sad, or whatever his stoic version of thoughtful and sad was, "So you're uncle is the crazy one. Got it."

"He's not crazy."

She waved her head at his volume. "Oh?"

"He has his reasons," he explained, softer, normal.

"Like what? Territory thing, compulsory kill switch, revenge?"

"Something like that."

"So it's a personal thing."

"Yes."

"And it has nothing to do with me."

"No."

"So it has no bearing on my life."

"Not really."

"Okay."

She didn't really care, it wasn't her family and Derek Hale wasn't her friend. Sitting up on her counter she mused on her own thoughts and drank her coffee, looking over at her kitchen companion.

"What?" He met her eyes.

Lucette shrugged and looked at her blurry distorted reflection in the metal of the refrigerator door, "I'm just wondering why you're here."

"He bit you, I'm here."

"Because I could go crazy and kill people?" She mumbled into her mug.

"That and you can't learn this on your own, and if you don't learn how to live like this it causes problems for the rest of us."

"Alright so you're going to train me or something."

"Until you don't need it anymore."

There was something else, she wanted to know. There was always something else. "And what else?"

"What else _what_?" He leaned into the doorframe and crossed his arms and ankles, head tilted and shirt stretched over his chest. She might have called him alluring if he was a picture and not a person.

"That's not your only reason," she stated it and finished her drink, plunking the cup down into the sink.

"…," he didn't answer and it made her peevish. She pointed a finger at him and put ice in her glare.

"Don't do that, giving me a look like I'm imagining things doesn't make me think I am. What's the other reason? You don't want your uncle to know I'm alive, okay fine," she waved a hand. "That's great but sorry if this is rude but you don't seem to be a selfish knight of a guy, Mr. Hale."

"Why are you calling me Mr. Hale?"

He looked genuinely confused as to why she was calling him Mr. Hale, she wasn't going to call him Derek, and she didn't want him calling her Lucette. She'd rather be thought of as 'the nurse my uncle bit.'

"Oh I'm sorry, did you like _Dee Jay_ better?"

"…"

She paused when her joke failed to ruffle his feathers. "Yeah, so what's your deal?"

"The fact that they don't know about you makes you valuable."

Lucette considered the statement, "…valuable how? As in surprise attack valuable?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Think of this as me helping you not kill people when the next full moon comes around and-…"

"And me out of the goodness of my heart helping you out of a tight spot if you get stuck in one."

"…"

She loathed his impression of a brick wall.

"Going to be honest and say I don't like that. In case you haven't noticed I'm not even healed and any master plan you've got for whatever it is you've got going on isn't going to come to fruition within the week."

"Master plan?" The notion seemed to annoy the piss out of him from the expression that tightened his face when he spoke.

"Yeah, master plan. Unless you're just stockpiling newbie werewolves in case the day rolls around when the war against humanity happens and zombies attack, again not to seem like a twat but you seem kind of shady."

"So that makes me a bad guy?"

Studying him she figured it depended on who she asked. "Are you a bad guy?"

"I haven't killed anyone and I haven't bitten anyone, I'm just cleaning up the mess and trying to contain it."

"Alri-…"

Her lungs seized and she started coughing violently, her ribs flexing and diaphragm shivering.

He didn't look the least bit concerned.

"Do you have Vasiline?"

"First aid bag, bedroom closet, little packets called A and D ointment," she sputtered between coughs.

He came back and ripped open the tiny packets for her. She rubbed the clear paste on her teeth and palate and spewed black bitterness into the sink, she bashed her head on the facet when she was trying to arrange her hair on top of her head and away from her mouth.

"It'll stop after about an hour, you're body will filter the rest out itself."

She flashed him a sarcastic thumbs up and kept coughing, kept spewing black tar froth from her heaving lungs.

"You hungry?" She asked after ten minutes of relieving her lungs of tar via lung convulsions and washing her mouth out and spitting too many times to count.

She wanted to brush her teeth. She wanted a cigarette and more coffee first. Looking down at her legs she realized her sweatpants were sticking to the blood on her legs. Pulling at the fabric she released the gruesome seal of it.

"What are you going to cook?"

"Ever have liver?"

"…you eat liver?"

He gave her a look she got a lot from her friends and sister when they found out she ate liver.

"Organ meats are very good for you," she rationalized.

"Do you make it with onions?"

She hated onions, "Onions are _vile_, can't stand them."

"I'll eat then."

"You can sleep in the spare bedroom if you want, or the couch. You look tired, did you sleep?"

She wanted to be nice and prove that she wasn't a complete asshole.

"…No."

"Why not?"

"You don't sleep quietly."

Rolling her eyes she remembered the time Molly informed her during a sleep-over that she sounded like a dying deer. "I know. By the way you really need to shave, you look homeless."

"…"

His lips twitched.

"Is that funny?"

"No."

"Looked like you thought it was for a second," she pointed out.

"You're seeing things."

"…"

It felt odd that they had just exchanged a joke, dreamlike in its surrealism.

"I thought you were cooking," he watched her pour more coffee.

"I will after I finish my coffee and have a cigarette and take a shower."

"Forget it. I have to go."

"Alright, so go."

She wondered where his attitude had come from.

"I'll be back in a few days," he told her walking out the back door.

"You can use the door instead of crawling through a window if you want," she yelled after he closed the door.

"Asshole," she added with a mumble knowing he could still hear her.

**Day 49:**

She felt incredibly useless. Though it helped the whole 'quit your job,' thing. She had never planned on quitting she realized paying the idea some thought, not that it mattered much after the phone call.

Drag Queen Mike had called and told her that the agency was pulling her and the other nurses off the job because of all the news coverage over the incidents and in hindsight she thought it was smart of them.

He told her the agency was getting some major heat from the Beacon Hills facility because of liability issues that could spring up if she and her team stuck around and decided later to sue because of an unsafe work environment, they sweetened the deal with the assuagement that, yes, she and the other nurses would get paid for the time they would have worked if they stayed on.

The numbers worked themselves out. She just earned a year's worth of pay and her bonus, she wasn't complaining. She toyed with the idea of getting a new car, or new furniture for her apartment.

She had the phone in hand to call her sister and tell her the news but hung up after she put all the numbers in disconnecting the call. It was better that everyone think she was still working for the next nine months she decided putting the phone back in its cradle.

Without a job she felt like wasted space, there was nothing to do and there was only so much time she could devote to television and reading through medical textbooks. At least she was free of pelvic pins and plates, she decided.

She needed a hobby but nothing came to mind besides crocheting, which she admitted to herself she was horrible at. Then she pondered if it was too late to sign up for online classes towards her master's.

That gave her pause and she filed the idea away in her mind as possible.

She was wondering if she had any pamphlets for a nurse practitioner course in her file box upstairs when the phone rang.

Cursing she wondered if her name had popped up on her sister's caller ID and if the younger girl was calling her back. She tried to think of what a good reason to call would have been.

It wasn't her sister. It was Trish.

"Hey, Trish."

"Hey, I just wanted to call and tell you that the wake is today."

"What wake?"

"Shrineburg's, it's at four. Are you going?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"How you feeling, better? You and your man _work it out_?"

"You know when we first met I thought you were the prude type of woman, I now see that I was wrong."

"Me a prude? Hilarious let me put my hubby on so he can have a good laugh too."

"He's a lucky man."

"I make sure he remembers every day. That's the key to a good relationship, you know."

"Daily booty?"

"Yep."

"I'm feeling much better. I can limp around without wanting to tear my legs off."

"When are you going for the x-ray?"

"Maybe tomorrow depends. I have to find an office that does it."

"Why don't you just do it here at the hospital?"

"Can't, they pulled us."

"No they didn't."

"They did, got the call an hour ago."

"I'm going to miss you, Lucette. We don't get a lot of nurses like you coming in."

"That's sweet, thanks Trish."

"I mean it, you know what you're talking about and you're a tough cookie. I like that and the doctors like it and the aides like that you will wipe ass or clean dentures if you have to without being a bitch about it."

"I don't know what to say."

"You're so humble."

"Thank you, Trish. Mean it."

"You're welcome. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm okay. I can drive now."

"You should have Dee Jay drive you."

"Dee Jay is being an absolute prick."

"Is he, what happened?"

"Nothing just he gets impatient, I was going to make breakfast yesterday and he got all pissy when I didn't do it right then because I needed coffee and a smoke and a shower first and he is the worst sometimes."

"I was surprised you had a boyfriend actually."

"Why?"

"You seem kind of manly."

"So you thought I was a lesbian?"

"Or a feminist."

"Shrineburg thought I was a lesbian too, offered to set me up with some doctor lady."

"Joy?"

"I think that was what he said her name was."

"She's pretty, I'd hit that if I was into girls."

"Well Dee Jay would love that."

"Most men do honey, threesomes and what not."

"He can like it all he wants, so not happening. I am not that kind of girl."

"I feel the same way, I got a man and I'm not sharing."

"Amen, sister."

"Hallejujah."

"So four today?"

"Yep. You know where the funeral home is?"

"Yeah, it's the two story house one next to the elementary school right?"

"That's the one, kind of looks like the one from that movie where the kid gets stung to death by bees."

"Oh my god! It does. Love that movie."

"Me too! Listen I got to go the kids are hitting each other with my shoes. I'll see you later."

"Okay, see you then."

It was two in the afternoon when Derek Hale showed up again, she heard him walk across her backyard and figured that he was taking her advice to use the door. She didn't feel the need to move from her crouch in a half-dressed state thumbing through her files for the pamphlet she was looking for.

When he swung onto the roof and found the window locked he just glared through the glass at her. She fell back onto her butt when she noticed him, surprised and angry.

She was embarrassed to be seen in her hosiery and hair curlers with her starched shirt hanging open over her bra and her underwear visible through the nylon on her legs.

He crouched and kept the gargoyle impression all the way to his face. He looked grim and pissed and knocked on the glass.

"Get off my roof before you fall through, use the back door."

When he didn't move and knocked again she flung a spiral notebook at the window and scowled.

"Unlock it or I'll break it," he said muffled by the glass.

"Use the door," she answered blithely.

"Okay, I'm going to break the window," he informed her.

"You'll be buying me a new one."

He started ripping off the wood around the glass in response. She couldn't believe it, her jaw dropped and she flung a book at him as he swung into the room after yanking the glass out.

"I broke it. Have fun fixing it."

"In case you haven't noticed I'm not dressed, wasn't going to get up and open the window."

"I would have closed my eyes."

He walked around the room and ran a finger over the spines of her books; it felt like an invasion of her personal space, she bit the inside of her cheek to quell her aggravation.

"Uh-huh, sure. Creeper."

"I'm not a creeper."

"Creepers climb through windows."

"…"

"Not the best time by the way. I have to finish getting ready to go out." She flicked through another folder and finding nothing put it back without flourish.

"You think now is a good time to go on a dinner date?"

"Date with a dead man. Real fun. Heh, that's pretty funny actually."

"What?"

"Because of that nut-bag Jennifer killing everyone I'm going to a wake you creeper."

"…"

"I'm going. Is that _allowed_?"

"Don't go near the hospital." He went back to looking at her books.

"Wasn't planning on it." She raised her head and glared at the wall. "They terminated my contract anyway, so I'm not a nurse there anymore."

"Don't leave town."

"Do you know how much it cost to rent this house for nine months?"

"No."

"A lot. In cash. I'm not going anywhere."

He sat in her chair. "Have you told anyone?"

"I thought it better not to mention it to my family."

"Smart."

He didn't make it sound like a compliment.

"I'm not dumb, if that's what you've been thinking. Screw it, I can't find it. Close your eyes or turn around I have to get up and put on my skirt."

She waited until he did and got up to go downstairs. She could hear him a few steps behind. Lucette sighed and huffed half-way down the stairs.

"When I said turn around and close your eyes I didn't mean for a second and then follow me down the stairs."

"My eyes are closed," he grumbled.

"Not with that tone they're not."

"I can't see anything."

"Don't care."

She realized after she said it that she shouldn't have because he minced her meaning and took it to mean that she didn't care if he looked or not, she did but she said she didn't care and he took it wrong.

Looking over her shoulder she saw that he was looking at her face, he glanced down at her ass and raised an eyebrow when he looked back from the cursory eye shift.

"Nice thong."

She scowled, "Wanna borrow one since you're so found of having things crawl up your ass?"

"…," His small smile of triumph faded with her remark.

The scales rebalanced themselves.

She went into the bathroom and started unrolling her curlers, tossing them into the sink.

"Creeper," she told his reflection.

"You look like a poodle."

"…"

"What? Are you offended now?"

"No, just thinking. Someone always has to say that when I curl my hair. Like I have no idea what poodles look like."

"It looks better the other way."

"That's a guy thing," she told him yanking on one tangled piece hair stuck on a curler.

"…"

"Guys like long straight hair…and ponytails. It looks feminine; it's an ingrained psychological response," she explained.

"Probably because girls with hair like that look ridiculous compared to other's who don't style themselves after dogs."

"Sure. Whatever. Who cares."

She walked away into her bedroom and put on her skirt and heels; she tucked in her shirt and found him standing at the other entrance to the room. She picked up her black sun hat and examined it for dust or imperfections.

"Overkill."

"What are you my fashion advisor? Go do something. Stop creeping on me while I get ready. And the hat is for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Midnight mass, in a catholic church you're supposed to wear a hat."

"I didn't come all the way to have you to make plans."

"If you had said 'hey, I'm swinging by on Monday don't make any plans,' I wouldn't have made plans. Don't bitch about it when you're the one being vague about when you will and won't stop by."

"What time are you coming back?"

"Probably a little after seven no later than eight."

"I'll come back at eight."

"For what?"

"To try and teach you something."

"Teach me what exactly?"

"How to shift."

"Can you teach someone that in three hours?"

"Basics. Since you said you're _not_ dumb."

"If there was a book written about it I'd teach myself. Is there a book?"

"What do you think?"

"Then I guess I'll just have to settle with you, god this reeks," she said about her deodorant.

"Your sense of smell is better."

"I noticed."

"That's cologne."

He pointed at the bottle she picked up off her vanity.

"It smells better than the perfume version," she sprayed herself and pulled her cigarettes from her purse. "You got a lighter?" He threw it to her, she caught it. "Thanks. Want one?"

She threw over the lighter and her pack at his nod of affirmation and caught the pack when he tossed it back.

Leaving the room she made a point to show him where the ashtray was.

"Whose wake is it?"

"Doctor Shrineburg."

"Shrineburg? Midnight _mass_."

"Converted Catholic did it for his wife."

"What about you?"

She thought it was an odd question from a guy like him.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

He took a drag.

"I'm not anything. There's things I'll never know about, and then you know that's where belief is supposed to come in so I guess I believe in everything there is to believe in."

"Like werewolves?"

"Kinda, everyone hopes that there's something else out there that they might be able to touch one day but it's weird to actually do that."

"I wouldn't know."

"You wouldn't, so you've always been like this?"

"I was born this way."

"Oh, mind trip."

"What?"

"Nothing, just like you have _no_ idea what it's like to be my version of normal. The creeper thing you got is just natural creeper talent, you didn't, like, learn it." She smiled.

"Can you stop calling me a creeper?"

"Does that _offend_ you?"

"Shut up."

"Heh," she grinned at her reflection in the mirror by the front door, and jingled her keys in her palm.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bitch?"

"Usually they put an adjective in front of it, hard bitch, cold bitch, mean bitch, pissy bitch, bitchy bitch, and so on."

"I can't imagine why."

He tapped out ashes in the ashtray, she was grateful he at least had learned some manners.

"Though I guess I am an _actual_ bitch now."

"Dog jokes, witty."

She rolled her eyes at his reflection as she made a pout and put on her lipstick, "What color?"

"'What color' what?"

She capped her lipstick and threw it in her purse smacking her lips and watching her curls bound into her eyes as she turned and smiled widely at him.

"What color thong did you want? I've got a purple paisley that would go great with your skin tone."

"What crawled up _your_ ass?" He hissed.

"You breaking my window might have something to do with it, also my still broken bathroom wall contributed to my bitch mood."

His stomach growled loud enough for her too notice, she raised her eyebrows and waved at her kitchen.

"Is there still liver?"

"…Yeah, fridge. Help yourself. I need coffee."

She followed him into the kitchen. He was already eating the leftovers with his hands, "You didn't cook it."

"I did, for like fifteen seconds."

"You're like the woman who got impregnated by the devil."

"What are you talking about?"

"Short hair, actor husband, witches as neighbors."

She got the reference. "Oh, gotcha. You watch movies?"

"Did you really just ask that?"

"Honest question, did you go to highschool? College?"

"Highschool, I did auto repair the last two years."

"I went to trade school too."

"I know. I heard you talk about at the nursing home to someone."

"That's cree-…,yeah sorry. Won't say it, you get it. Can't help it, born that way."

"You talk a lot."

"Not usually," she shrugged and gulped down half of the mug and waved half-heartedly on her way out the door, calling out a warning to be good to her dog who was sulking around the backyard forlornly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The movie about the woman getting impregnated by the devil with an actor husband and witches for neighbors that eating raw meat reminded Derek of is _Rosemary's Baby_. The Disney movie with the Huns, lizard dragon, and song about making a man out of someone is _Mulan_. I think that's all the references I made. If I missed one, let me know. Can you tell I had fun writing this? Because I totally did. Derek Hale is just plain_ fun_ to write dialogue for. And holy shit he tells jokes, not very funny ones but _jokes_. Too much fun did I have with this chapter, tis true. Oh and the movie with the kid that gets stung to death by bees is _My Girl_. Soma is a drug that technically is controlled but not here in the US, a controlled substance is usually a narcotic but not always they have different "schedules" or in lay terms levels of how high the chance for abuse is. Usually narcotics and drugs with abuse potential are double locked in a special cabinet or dispensed by an automatic system to prevent stealing, narcotics are kind of one of those things that are watched really closely in medical settings for obvious reasons.


	8. The Parturition

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual innuendo

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N:** _Dude_, I love writing Derek. A note about some of the comments regarding UST that showed up last chapter, totally didn't do it intentionally. Though I guess it's a good thing that it's coming through on its own but let me just say that right now Derek and Lucette are ambivalent about each other, that's how they _feel_ regardless of what the outside view on what's going on is and if there's sexual tension they don't see it, they're kind of not diggin' each other vibes and this chapter things devolve from ambivalence to plain hostility, they both get on each other's nerves and not the good ones.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 50:<strong>

Her chosen workout music blasted out through the first floor of the house and she basked in just how much more she enjoyed listening to music with her ears picking up every nuance, the volume didn't bother her, she could feel it rattling her bones in the best way.

It felt whimsical to skid on the bottom of her too long, too loose jeans across the wood floor and spin herself, braid slapping across her shoulders hard and her cigarette leaving trails of smoke wafting around her.

She tried to remember when the last time she felt so fantastic was. When she'd ever felt so rested and strong and vibrant.

Nothing came to mind.

She paused and eyed the staircase with avid interest, puffing idly on filter and clicking the nails of her other hand together.

Her dog remained wary of her but had at least stopped hiding from her, he watched her look around the house in wonder of it, confused by his owner's antics.

It was heady, the high feeling, the casual ease. She was taken with herself, her body, the way she felt, how good the cigarette tasted, how utterly bombastic the music pounded out.

"Brigs, stop looking at me like I should put a shirt on. I can walk around _naked_ if I want, it's my house," she snickered and looked down at her small breasts and thought that she had never loved them quite as much as she did then.

They were perfect. Her sagging jeans were perfect. Her horribly braided hair was perfect. Her chapped lips were perfect. She was perfect.

The way her stride felt was breathtaking, it was as if she'd never actually walked before for real and she finally just woken up and got it, though every so often her stride faltered and she'd stumble into something, not used to how her joints and bones had refused.

She jumped onto the banister and climbed the slope of it and when it grew too steep she crouched and lowered a hand for support, stopping to eye the top railing on the second floor.

Launching herself she caught the wood railing with one hand and swung her body up and around to face the view of downstairs. She watched her toes as she wiggled them and let out a cloud of smoke.

She heard the book before she felt it hit her and sent her flying to the floor below. The textbook landed within a foot and spun out across the floor, crinkling pages like broken bug wings, taking her cigarette with it and waving orange embers everywhere.

Her nails left marks on the floor and she felt her lips crack when she snarled up at the thrower of heavy books.

"Well, at least now it's instantaneous," Derek Hale muttered leaning over the railing lazily.

Within a breath she scaled back up the banister and kicked him back from the railing, landing and planting herself less than a foot from him.

She lunged and found herself flying back downstairs over the railing. Her head pounded in time with the loud music when her vision stopped spotting shooting stars and channel static.

Wiping at her torn lip she looked at her nails and found them less intimidating than they had been a moment before.

Something thrown from above flopped lazily at her splayed legs it was the shirt she'd been wearing before deciding it was too itchy and she'd rather be half-naked.

The idea didn't seem as brilliant as it did before Derek Hale had shown up and pushed her off the banister to the floor thirteen feet below.

"You make a habit of walking around with a shirt on?"

"It's my house. Ring the doorbell and I'd put one on," she answered after a choking gasp on reclaimed air.

"Well the view's pretty unimpressive," he nodded to himself, face scrunching, "Might not be the best thing to flaunt."

With a toss of her head and a glare at the ceiling she pressed a hand to her sternum, "I've noticed. By all means don't feel like it's rude to just not look at them, at all, ever."

"You're the one without a shirt on."

"You're the one who forgot to knock."

They were silent and Lucette walked her fingers down the hills her ribs made under her skin, there was a stabbing throb on her left side, one of them was causing it, she prodded harder, trying to find the one that was misplaced.

"I've got a few hours."

"Training season. Fantastic. Gimme a second to pop my spine back into place," she scowled and arched her back off of and then into the wood floor trying to create some space between the disks.

He came down the stairs and looked down at her; she closed her eyes and tried not to be embarrassed. She tossed a lazy arm over her chest. He snorted and leaned down to pick up the shirt he'd thrown at her and let it fall over her face and torso. She heard him stalk away and start moving furniture in the living room.

"Are you going to get up?"

It was a valid question.

"Let's not do that again, okay? My back kills." She bent her knees and got the floor firmly under her feet, her speech mumbled through the fabric covering her face.

"Crack it," he suggested.

She twisted on the floor and moved her shoulders and hips side to side until something cracked and it suddenly hurt to breathe when a rib popped backed in place.

Standing she pulled on the thermal shirt and helped him with the coffee table.

Her back still hurt, he noticed her flexing her shoulders back and forth and trying to twist.

He came behind her holding her shoulder firm and digging a knuckled fist into the center of her back, bending her spine into her stomach.

The fabric of her shirt rasped her skin hard enough to burn under his fingers and the bony knobs of his knuckles made her squirm in her spot as they ground against her spine, agonizing and inescapable.

It snap, crackle, popped back into feeling less painful.

"Thanks," she muttered.

He nodded walking around her. He planted his foot on the seat of the leather armchair, pushing it back towards the window.

"Alright. Try to hit me," he sounded bored already knowing her performance was bound to be lackluster. She knew it to, but it didn't make his expression less insufferable.

She got two hits to his twenty-three.

"Better," he commented idly after he tossed her carelessly into a wall.

**Day 51:**

"You're a horrible best friend."

She tied her shoelaces with the phone nestled between her face and shoulder, waving her head back and forth in unseen mockery of the person on the other line.

"Oh puh-lease you _never_ call me back, and you do it on purpose. I don't call you back because I forget."

"I'm not going to return a call when I'm dead tired, Lucette," she was told sternly.

Sighing she smoothed out the cuffs of her pants and realized there was no way to win the argument and not come off as a bitch, "Sorry I forgot to call you back."

Standing she looked down at her sneakers and her jeans and then across the floor at where her dog lay, head on paws, snout pressed against the wood and eyes down.

"I left like four messages."

"I said I was sorry," she answered not knowing what else her friend wanted her to say about her lack of punctual returns on phone calls.

"Well I was beginning to feel like you were shunning me."

The answer sounded sullen and childish, sad and small. It made Lucette stop and sit back down feeling sobered by the admission, it hollowed her out.

"I wasn't, and now you know how I feel when you don't pick up because you're _dead tired_."

"Fine from now on I'll pick up and just fall asleep in the middle of you talking."

She smiled at the uppityness of the reply. It filled her mind with thoughts of normalcy, "You do that now. What's up?"

"Nothing."

Lucette flopped back, her hair flying out and falling around her head across the messy slept in sheets and put an arm over her eyes. "You called me seven times and left four messages for nothing?" She tried to sound scathing.

"I miss my best friend. I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, I know. Work's been hectic lately."

"You get mauled by any wild mountain lions yet?"

The cheerful obliviousness scalded her to her bones. Lucette hung her head off the bed and relished the weight the blood-rush seemed to add to her skull.

"Yeah, barely escaped with my life," a grin grew out of the sheer desperate need to not stall, stop, and sputter out like a candle wick drowning in wax over what was transpiring around her. "A burly lumberjack came and rescued me from the jaws of death and slayed the beast with an axe," she continued feeling the prick of heat behind her eyes and the heaviness above her cheek bones as her face turned a splotchy red.

"Lumberjacks don't use axes, they use chainsaws."

"I'll pass that along." The prickling heat melded into liquid warmth and she felt her temples become sticky and chilled by the awful culmination of stress and being too feeble to help herself.

"A woodsman uses an axe," Molly sounded thoughtful.

"They both like plaid," her voice sounded watery and she coughed to banish anything but a normal intonation. She swung her body up and the wet tracks streamed down instead of up.

Molly didn't notice.

It flayed her emotionally, nicking at something vital as it tore things from her. Things that made her haughty and assured of her worth, things that to her were as fathomable as the fact that she breathed, integral parts of her, parts that were changing.

Molly wouldn't notice because Lucette would choke her watery whimpers on her knees and pull the phone away from her mouth, would stifle her warbling by holding her breath until her lungs shook and shivered.

"So yeah, I missed you. Even though you're a bitch who doesn't pick up her phone."

"Watch it or I'll hang up.

She wanted to, but she wouldn't. She enjoyed the exercise in self-debasement too much, she wanted to subject herself to the conversation, she wanted to be chided and scolded even though she was beyond such things, maybe forever, she wanted it at least for a little while longer in case she never got it again.

"No you won't, you love me too much."

The voice on the other line sounded smug.

"So what have you been up to?" Lucette dragged her forearm across her face and got up to go to the mirror. She wanted to watch herself, she wanted to know what it was like to watch herself be one person and sound like another and have someone have no idea.

"Work, broke up with bubba."

"Broke up? Or are you two just fucking, because if you're still fucking you haven't broken up."

Taking a wash cloth and letting cold water crash out of the facet onto it she took in her face, patchy red and her eyes squinted, veined heavily and hard despite the heat rolling away from them down her face. She licked at her lips and tasted salt and felt the fractures and cracks in the delicate tissue.

"We still have sex."

"Slut," she made herself grin at the mirror and the resounding snort in her ear only made it widen until a lip cracked. She watched the line of red bubble and then slowly she imagined that she could see it heal cell by cell.

"I like having sex with him."

"Is it good sex?"

Her fingers traced over the red line on the pale plumpness of her lower lip, she place a finger on either side and ripped the patches of chapping flesh apart, it stung like a hornet but she licked the spot better and watched it stitch back together.

"It's ah-may-zing, it's nice not having him be my boyfriend."

The conversation went by with her response delivered as if they were being handed to her on a piece paper to read off of, so very much like the things she normally said but her mind was humming the cold distance of a machine hibernating or not yet kick-started to proper functioning.

"What if he starts having amazing sex with someone else, will you be pissed off?"

In the spaced out silence that was created for the woman on the other line to think up a suitable response Lucette tucked the phone away from her mouth and pulled the scaled patches of her lips apart and watched the angry colored gaps suck themselves together and join smoothly together.

"I'd be fucking furious."

"Then you guys are still boyfriend-girlfriend without the titles, better make sure he knows what the arrangement is."

She hadn't wanted her lips to not be chapped, she bit at the bottom and peeled off a thin strip with her clenched teeth and let it waft to the back of her tongue and down her throat.

"He does," Molly assured her.

"No he doesn't because you haven't drawn the line in the sand yet."

Lucette picked up the washcloth and wrung it out, and folded it into a packed square to press against her eyes and sooth her puffy-faced appearance.

She felt better. There was no tightness in her chest choking her and making her eyes want to burst.

"He knows."

Satisfied that her face was less blotchy and she let the rag fall with a slap into the sink and turned away from her reflection to lean against the counter, "Okay, don't call me pissed off and crying when he fucks another girl because he thought it was okay because you're not boyfriend-girlfriend."

"He knows."

"He thinks you're each other booty calls."

"No he doesn't."

"Fine he doesn't," she was only agreeing to piss her friend off, the other woman knew as much.

"Now _you're_ pissing me off."

"Don't get an attitude with me Molls, if you don't want to talk about this we won't."

"Good, we're not going to talk about it."

"Fine. How's work?"

"Good, you?"

With a grim smile Lucette let the quick, punchy tone wash over her and replied with calm ease and a chime in her tone, "I _told_ you, hectic."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Anything exciting going on?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a pause and then quiet nothing sounds that occurred in the background or the brush and rustle of fabric across the mouthpiece of the other woman's phone.

"You sound annoyed," Lucette pointed out.

"I just thought this was going to be a fun conversation."

"Sorry I'm boring I just got a lot of papers and stuff and I'm tired."

"Do you want me to call you later?"

"No, it's just I don't know what to talk about."

"Find any good looking guys yet?"

"Not really," she shrugged and rubbed the back of her calf with the top of her opposite foot.

"Did you ever see the laundry serial killer guy again?"

"Laundry serial killer guy?" She questioned, pondering the name more than the man. She knew who Molly meant but she focused on the description because she didn't want to think about Derek Hale, she wanted to pretend like he wasn't even a real person.

"The cute guy you told me about that you saw when you were doing laundry that you stabbed with a syringe."

"Oh, him. No," she lied pretending like she had been confused as to who she'd been talking about. Brigadier watched her sit on the edge of the bed again and run her nails across the small open box lying next to the cut glass candy dish that was revived as an ashtray.

"Well did they catch him?"

"Probably," she wondered idly and not really concerned if in fact the police were still manhunting him with dogs and car chases and guns and smoke bombs and raids and all the rest.

"_Probably_?"

"What's with the shrieky tone?" Her own was unconcerned and neutral and did nothing to soothe the woman on the other line.

"What if you go to do laundry and he like sees you and kidnaps you and murders you to make sure there are no witnesses to his crimes?"

"Then I guess I'll get murdered."

"That is _not_ funny!"

"Calm down. Jeez. I was kidding."

Not really, because the thought amused her. Derek Hale murdering her was only a step above throwing heavy books at her head and tossing her down stairs and into walls, breaking her fingers and ribs and stomping on her spine.

"Well did you talk to the police and stuff?"

"Yeah, they did a follow-up they were nice and if it helps they've been saying on the news that he's no longer the prime suspect."

She picked up her lighter and played with it, flicking the wheel over and over again wondering where the thought to hover her tongue over the tiny flame came from, she didn't but she eyed the flicker of orange light drawing black waves over the back of her hand with trancelike fixation.

"Suspect in what?"

"The killings and stuff."

"There's been more killings?"

Oops, she hadn't meant to mention that there had been more killings, she wondered quickly if there had been, she thought there were, she wasn't sure, she hadn't turned on the news in days.

It didn't matter. She didn't care. "No but they think the guy I found was killed by an animal and then the other guys were uh _slain_ in relation to whatever."

"What whatever?"

The shrillness of the question made her move her gaze and wince.

"I don't know a drug cartel, car thefts, organized crime, aliens; I wasn't really paying attention to the story."

"Well you should be paying attention!"

"If it makes you feel better I'll get my washing machine fixed so that way I won't ever have to leave the house again except to go to work."

"God, you _are _cranky."

Lucette made it a point to keep her most recent conclusions to herself on how people were only worried so far as they could take care of it or yell about it but that they always failed to notice the oddness of everyone's actions, always failed to really listen and perk up their ears.

She found that she didn't care quite so much, Molly was suddenly just a silly person, someone she could never talk to again from that moment and never even care that that was the end of it.

She knew that the sentiment hadn't just developed, that it hadn't sprung from sense of change within her, it had always been there. Now, at the point where everything faltered and she suddenly seemed to feel tired that much more deeply, grave deep, eye teeth deep, echo deep, she wondered if she had it in her anymore to play so many roles, so many games she'd suddenly lost the patience for.

"Sorry," she answered knowing she didn't want so many parts to dress up for anymore.

"So you're going to call someone to fix the washing machine?"

"I was just going to do it myself."

"You know how to fix a washing machine?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You're nuts."

"For your goodies."

Automatic responses, an articulated snort or laugh and affective tone that made the woman on the other line sparked up by the friendly teasing.

"Ewwww."

"Baby, waaaah."

"You _are_ mean."

"Glad to hear it."

"Nice to see you haven't gotten rusty."

"Glad you're still a masochist."

"Do you really wanna talk to me right now?"

"Not really, don't feel bad. I'm just out of it and have a lot of shit to do."

"Okay then call me back later and go get shit done."

"Alright, thanks. Bye."

"Yup."

She let the phone drop onto the mattress; it bounced weakly and turned itself over.

Lighting a cigarette she found she could not remember most of the conversation she just had, she remembered what she had said but none of the other woman's answers. The inability to remember was so engrossing that she wondered if she had just actually been on the phone or if she'd been thinking about having a conversation on the phone but never actually had it.

It bothered her enough to check her caller ID and see if she had in fact received a call.

Her eyes watered hard for a moment when the smoke she exhaled hung heavily over her face for too long instead of wafting and wasting away.

It was suddenly hard to consider getting up and going out, she wanted to sulk and mull over things.

Changing was hard. It wasn't reliable yet. She was trying. But she wasn't making leeway and Derek Hale was losing patience.

Being thrown into walls made her angry, getting thrown off the banister made her angrier, a few broken fingers made the change last only as long as they took to heal, it was frustrating, she wasn't used to not being good at things she tried to be good at.

She pondered whether she was trying hard enough. She wasn't. Retreating into her thoughts she realized that it would take some restructuring to be able to get good at it. She could be pushed to change but that wasn't what she wanted.

She wanted to pull It out of her, on her own, control it, temper it, open the cage by undoing the latch instead of having someone tear off the bars and poke at it with a sharp stick.

_It _was there, smothered and sleepy in the back of its cave, Derek Hale could start a rock fall to wake it up and make it run out of its dark, deep place angry and growling ready to rend something apart but she wanted to make it wake up, stretch, lick its paws, lope out and howl.

There was a fracture in her, a crack, _a chasm_ and at the bottom something stalked and growled and kept itself separate from the rest of her mind, but nonetheless a newly synthesized part of her being and body. _It_ liked it down there in its dark, damp place. It needed a reason to want to come out, it needed to be tempted and coaxed to settle itself inside her skin.

Lucette wondered if all it would take was for her to want it to be there, if it would surface so long as it knew it had a place or a purpose or a reason.

At the bottom of the schism in her nature something rumbled and luxuriated in being acknowledged.

She twisted her head and let her chin drop to her chest. She let her shoulders roll in their sockets and flexed out her fingers touching at invisible strings.

Suddenly it was there, pressing itself tight against her thoughts, nuzzling at her, ardent and intimate, primordial and feral.

But it was like something at the edge of her vision, a shadow cast from a flicker of movement that passed and left nothing in its wake, and it flitted away, out of sight, and she shivered coming back to the moment and _It_ going back to its dark, deep place.

She had found _It._

_It _was pleased.

"Brigs," her tone was a bark in the quiet house and broke apart the hanging smoke like it was cloud cover.

The animal looked up and she patted the empty space behind her head, "Bounce."

His reaction was prompt and she laid her head on the animal's back when he settled in the spot on the bed. "I've missed you, you know? It's like you don't like me anymore, do I smell weird now?"

Pressing at her offered hand Brigadier licked her fingers.

"Am I really that different now, huh?"

Large wet eyes just looked back at her, she felt no ingrained canine connection with the dog, and she knew she wouldn't but it still left her feeling cold and windy inside her chest.

"I'm sorry, Brigs. I don't even know what's going on."

She turned her head and took a drag "Pfffh," she blew out heavily. "I really _am_ sorry," she told him quietly.

" Hmmmph. I don't even know, jeez. It's so dumb."

It took her an hour of doing nothing but contemplate the patterns the blue smoke filling the room made before she'd stirred her thoughts enough to want to do something.

Brigadier went happily at her side through the house and going through the motions of grabbing her keys and his leash she felt oddly sexless and mechanic, a droid devoid of everything but motion and checklist thoughts, it was soothing.

She drove for awhile in silence forgetting why she was driving in the first place and missing the turn she needed to take.

As she pulled a turn to go back in the direction she'd come from she realized she didn't have a library card and that since she didn't live in Beacon Hills she couldn't get one, she hoped the library had a copy machine.

Parking next to a dented Jeep she looked in the rearview mirror at her dog and smiled.

Walking in she made her way into nonfiction content to just eye the selection and pull books as she found them without looking up the locations of the ones she was most interested in.

The book she wanted was much too large to copy, it wasn't practical to stand around and copy two-hundred pages for over an hour. She let the text fall open in her hands and found no sensor inside, eyeing the row she stood in and the ones that had a view of her she found no one looking in her direction. She listened and heard no one around in the accompanying rows.

She slid the book inside her bag and shook it down to fit better among the contents.

It wasn't as if she planned of keeping it but the thought appealed to her urge to collect and hoard books, but she'd return the book after she fixed her washing machine, she swore to herself that she would.

Turning out of the aisle she avoided a collision by stepping back and spinning on her toes out and around, even to herself she noted that it was some pretty fancy footwork. Her bag swung and smacked the leg of the person she had managed to avoid crashing into.

He was cute, jailbait but cute nonetheless and his apology was a streamlined fast paced garble of speech as he strode away with an stack of book perched on his hip, more concerned with whatever it was he was thinking than her.

She smiled bemused and left the cute community library climbing into her truck and pausing before pulling out to find a radio station she liked that didn't boast a constant stream of commercials.

A conversation started up in the car next to hers between the driver and passenger. She listened without meaning to because one boy spoke loudly, she focused and listened to the response of the other.

They tossed insults back and forth with the practiced ease of best friends. One boy's description of someone they knew reminded her of Derek Hale, he _was_ a 'constant pain in the ass jerk who really needed to throw some color into his wardrobe,' it made her lips curve and the smile stay on her face as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

**Day 52:**

It was irritating to not be told when he'd show up in a specific sense. She could do without all the vagueness that he seemed to perpetuate merely by existing.

She squatted behind the metal box and worked at a rather tightly spun nut and bolt combination, she wiped at a sweaty itch at the back of her neck, looking at her palm she found the mashed remains of an insect with bits of the small creature under her nail, she wiped away it's mushed body on her jeans and wiped at her neck again in reflex.

"You should learn to call or something, seriously what if I decided to have someone over?"

"You don't know anyone here," he replied sitting up on the wooden counter that was for folding clothes on, ankles uncrossed and legs hanging, loose and unswaying.

She put her knee closet to the outside down and reached around to the top of the metal, tilting her slick forehead onto the cool surface she squinted at him and blew dryer lint stuck on her nails off her fingers.

Not appreciating his flippant response she felt an overwhelming urge to make him uncomfortable.

"I could always decide to go on that blind date with the _'fine'_ oral lady surgeon. It'd be inopportune if you showed up and spoiled _girl time_."

She disappeared again behind the machine and picked up a screwdriver.

"You're not a lesbian."

Rolling her eyes she flicked her wrist up and out impishly, despite knowing he wouldn't be able to see her do it, "How could you possibly know definitively either way?"

Lucette didn't put much stock in gay-dar. She worked on taking out the screws on the ring around a hole in the wall a pipe went through.

"You stare and I can…," he started before she went up on her knees and stood a bit to look over the top of the washing machine with the screwdriver brandished and poised for a quick launch at his head.

"If you say smell it I'll throw this at you and _not_ miss," she warned.

He turned his head as if to hide a small grin but she couldn't make one out, she crouched back down and went back to the screws.

"Fine. You stare and _appraise_."

"Appraise what?"

She finished turning a screw with her fingers and put it in her empty coffee mug so it wouldn't roll away and disappear for when she needed it later.

"Me. Other men. Any man actually," it sounded thoughtful.

"When?"

She already knew but she wanted to see if he did or if he was just bluffing.

"At the laundromat, at the nursing home, the first time," he paused. "A few times since. You've avoided doing it obviously since the night you changed." His tone was one that she imagined someone who was filing their nails would use.

It sounded strange coming from a guy.

"Trust me it's not exactly special treatment." It wasn't, she just liked to browse rather than buy.

"I know. But you're not a lesbian."

"No, I'm not," she agreed. She picked up the remote for the music dock set down on the basement floor meaning to turn on a playlist but she stopped with her finger on the play button when he started talking again.

"You're not very discreet by the way."

"Why should I be? I check out guys, it's kind of the point to let them know I'm checking them out if they're attractive."

"That's weird," he told her when she was about to press the button again, she sighed and put the remote down deciding that if they were going to have a conversation that she didn't need background noise distracting her.

"Don't guys do that?" She thought they did, it seemed like they did. Now she wasn't so sure.

"Not intentionally."

"So guys are just oblivious is what you're saying."

"Some."

She snorted and finished unscrewing the metal ring from around the piping, she slid it off and put it down next to the assortment of various hardware bits and bobs. "You're not?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Why because I'll think the answer is creepy?"

"Probably," he stated offhandedly.

"Well now you have to tell me."

She didn't think he would so she started pulling at the piping not noticing it was secured further up the wall with brackets.

"You're what, a size four? Thirty-four A cup size? Seven, seven in a half shoe?"

It wasn't really a question because she was and he was right the answer was a little creepy especially now that she had stood up and wondered if he could see her butt from over the washing machine.

"Are you gay?" She asked setting to work on the brackets.

"…"

"Because I have a gay friend that can do that. With sizes and stuff. Okay yep, that's creepy."

"But you never saw me looking close enough to figure all that out did you?"

"Not helping make yourself seem less creepy," she sing-songed turning her head so her voice carried over her shoulder.

"Didn't know I had to defend myself, I'm a guy."

Lucette held her hand cupped over the bracket as she loosened the last screw and let it fall into her palm.

"You're justifying your creepy actions. That's a form of defense."

"You asked."

"I did."

"…"

At his silence she really wondered if he could see her butt, she looked behind her and saw that at least half of it was visible, she wished she'd worn looser jeans.

She looked over at him and turned, placing the hardware on top of the washing machine.

"Why are you checking me out?"

"Because you're female. It's not really 'checking out,' it's just an observation."

"Seriously?"

"…"

"You're a weirdo."

"..."

Derek Hale raised one scruffy eyebrow and said nothing more; she raised her own and turned to undo the tightened metal ring around the seam in the pipe so she could disassemble it.

"And you my friend are of a very tricky sort," she said through pressed together teeth as she twisted with her fingers at the pipe trying to turn the ends apart from each other.

"What?"

He had been in his own thoughts, she knew, his voice perked as if he'd zoned out and she was talking to him.

"Talking to the washing machine."

"Are you going to be done soon?" His shoes made a sound against the dirty floor as they touched down and started moving in little skids over into what was her line of sight when she turned her head to the side.

"I'll be done when I'm done; stop looming and maybe it will go faster. You're blocking the fan," the breeze was nonexistent and the heat in the small space was sweltering without it.

"Do you know what you're doing?" He sounded like he would if he was doing the fixing but she didn't, like he knew because he was a guy and she didn't because she was a girl.

"I read how to do it."

"That doesn't mean you know how to do it."

She glared sideways at him and pushed out her lips in an angry pucker, "It pretty much does."

Even to her it sounded stuck-up, especially when she bunched up her shoulders and squinted her eyes tilting her head, daring him to say something smart-assed.

He didn't disappoint.

"No one just reads a book and gets how to do something, the first time."

"They would if they paid attention to what they read the first time. I'm a book learner. Here, I'll prove it. This is like my one and only party trick."

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

He questioned when she held out the stolen library book and then stabbed in closer towards him when he didn't immediately remove it from her grasp.

"Open it, pick a heading and be amazed."

Crouching back down she twisted at the bottom of the pipe. She heard the crackle of the book spine and his fingers leafing through pages half-heartedly.

"Duct systems," he supplied closing the book around his index finger to save the page.

"Chapter two…left sided page," she recalled. "Somewhere in the fifties with a picture of some coils arranged in size order on the opposite page," she added, going on and taking in his silence.

"That's memorization."

How scathing, she thought suppressing a snort and an insult to his intelligence at not being able to recognize her own.

"Yeah, so? Doesn't mean it's not impressive." It was impressive; she knew it was. He said nothing so she went on.

"There's a textbook upstairs it's purple and orange, that's my old med-surg book, cardiac chapters are twenty-one through twenty…eight. Twenty-five is the chapter on deciphering a read out. Third or fourth left side page has a blurb about atrial fibrillation with a picture of it a page back."

She remembered the placement vividly, as if she just put the book down a moment ago. His expression seemed sobered, as if he was suddenly in awe of how amazing her present since birth skills were, she liked to think that's why his face was so blank, she knew she was wrong but she didn't mind it so much.

"Is that something that you've only been able to do recently?"

Turning her head away she managed to unstick the pipes and lay them down on the floor next to her foot.

"No. I've always been able to do that, in school everyone said it was photographic memory, I guess it is but it's not like a picture in my head it's a dimensional-spatial thing, I memorize the layout of topics more than specific passages," she explained before setting a hard, shifty look on him.

"And I also know you were in my house earlier," she felt smug when his expression waved like water, caught and found out, it didn't waver for long before the coolness re-etched itself into his mouth and eyes.

"Sure I was."

She gave him an eye roll that was meant to say: 'sure you weren't.'

"Don't move things and I won't know. You were also out of cigarettes, one of my half-smoked butts was completely smoked and the mug on the counter had the handle pointing to the left when I saw it again, I'm right handed so it wasn't me who put it down like that. The curtains on the back door where moved a little to the side. You _were_ here."

"So? I was here."

As if it was perfectly okay to wander through her house and poke through her things whenever he wanted to. His look asked her if there was something else she wanted to say.

She waved vaguely, "Nothing, you can move curtains and smoke butts and play with the mugs just don't touch my stuff. I don't like it."

"…"

He stared at her as if he cared very little what she did or didn't like. She turned on her music and worked while he threw himself on top of the washing machine, somehow she wondered if he knew that it annoyed her. Chances were good that he guessed it would.

"You know though there is something I noticed that's changed."

"Changed?"

He looked down at her, his head blocking the light she was using to see with.

"With my senses," she informed him, pausing and motioning for him to move his head out of her light. "Beyond the obvious," she added.

Lucette sat down from her squat and folded her legs to the side, her grip lax and loose on the tool in her hand, he didn't say anything.

"It's like the way I hear and see things has shifted. Fine-tuned. Like if you hear someone laugh you can picture the way their face looks when they laugh, right? Well I can picture the way their larynx vibrates, I can wrap my mind around that and focus on it. I couldn't do that before."

"…"

"I feel like I could play an instrument now if I wanted to. I was never any good, I can multitask but not like you have to do when you play a piano or a guitar or whatever. Maybe that can be my hobby. Fixing things isn't exactly exciting."

"…"

"I can also split wood. I couldn't do that before."

"Split wood?"

"Yeah, before I just couldn't coordinate the strike right because the thing was too heavy and my aim didn't hit right."

"Why are you splitting wood?"

"Because I have a fireplace and the oil tank is getting low. I'd rather have hot water than heat."

"I thought you favored the ice bath."

"…"

"What?"

"Was that a joke?"

"That was sarcasm, read a book about it."

She turned her head so he couldn't see her grin, because it was funny but he was behaving like he usually did so she wasn't going to let him know she thought it was something worth grinning or laughing over.

He got off the washing machine and walked around to loom down at her.

"Oooh. You're a regular mister chuckles, stop moving in front of the fan, it's hot back here."

Derek Hale's version of moving was to turn and lean against the wall, "Why does everyone call you Lucette?" He asked without looking at her.

"Because that's my name."

"That's not what your name tag said."

"I know."

"So why don't they call you Lucinda?"

"No one _really_ calls me Lucinda, even though it's my name. Lucette is what my family calls me, I just got used to it."

"Why did they name you Lucinda then if they were just going to call you Lucette?"

"My dad named me after my grandmother and then everyone realized how confusing it got to have two Lucinda's in the family. So for awhile they all just called me Little Lucy. My grandmother hated it so everyone just started calling me Lucette. Which I guess in whatever language means Little Lu-whatever. So really it's like they're still calling me Little Lucy only it sounds better."

"It's French," he informed her. She didn't find it very interesting to know it was French. It didn't matter.

"I guess they just liked it. No one calls my sister by her name. Everyone just calls her Stella instead of Estelle."

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah, two years younger. You have a sister right?"

She remembered their first post-bite conversation when he'd shown up in athletic apparel.

"I did."

Stopping what she was doing she realized that the past tense meant his sister was dead.

"Sorry."

"…"

Lucette thought she saw him nod from the corner of her eye.

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"How many years apart were you two?"

"Two."

"We're not really bitches you know."

"…"

"Older sisters. We're not trying to be bitches."

"…"

"It might be different between brother and sister than two sisters, but it's hard to be older and a girl. Because you're older and because you're not a boy you kind of have to act like one in order to have the power in the whole dynamic."

Thinking about her own little sister made her stomach drop unpleasantly.

"My sister didn't act like a boy."

"Probably because she had a brother instead of a sister."

"What does acting like a boy have to do with power dynamics between siblings?"

"When you're just a kid you have to listen to everyone, parents and whoever but the only person you don't have to listen to is your sibling," he looked down at her with a tilted glance as she spoke. "You have no control over your own environment and the things you get to do and none over anybody else except you're brother or sister if they're younger. But if your two brothers or two sisters you relate to each other and everyone expects you to be attached at the hip."

She fell back into old memories, things only half-remembered before and now surfacing like a body from a river, morbid and futile now that their time had passed, she shook her head and tried to sink them with mental rocks before going on.

"Not all kids act like that. I didn't, _I_ wanted to be in charge of me and my sister's relationship so I just made myself not like her. I wasn't very nice when I was a kid. To her mostly. And other kids."

"So you were a brat," he said it as confidently as someone who knew they were right.

"I was cruel," but he wasn't right and her rebuttal made him raise his chin and smirk as if he didn't believe her.

"So why'd you change?"

"Who said I've changed?"

His eyes shot open and studied her face for as long as she kept it turned toward him.

"You're not cruel, just irritating."

"Maybe I've gotten better at it; maybe I'm just crueler in different ways."

"All kids are cruel. They grow out of it."

"Heh."

She made a gesture that told him to think whatever he wanted to think and pushed her shoulders into the washing machine to shove it back another inch and give her more room to work.

"You don't think so?"

"No, I do. Because kids don't develop moral codes until they understand the correlation between their actions and interpersonal relationships. Most kids grow out of it when they figure it out," she shrugged and changed the song that came on because it wasn't a song she wanted playing when someone else was around, especially if they didn't speak and all there was to listen to the lyrics, which were less than appropriate.

"So what was so funny?"

Derek Hale spoke around a cigarette, she held out her hand for one. He smoked reds, she smoked golds, it could be worse she decided, he could have smoked the plum ones. Lucette stifled the mental gag from becoming a physical gesture of palate cleansing, she hated the plum ones.

"Some kids just have no interest in interpersonal relationships. They understand the relationship but they're cold, detached by choice instead of social ineptitude. Or at least that's how other people see them. Jeez…"

She stopped and thought about Molly, tapping her ashes onto the floor next to her boot.

"What?"

"Just remembered that I already had this conversation, sort of."

"With who?"

Lucette sat down and leaned her shoulders into the metal; it wasn't cold like she'd thought it be, warmed by her approximation to it for so long, ash dropped onto her shirt and left a black smear when she wiped the cylindrical particle across the white ribbed fabric.

"My friend, she was having _way_ too much fun with the whole thing."

"She thinks that you're one of those kids."

"_She_ thinks _I_ have aspergers."

"What's that?"

"You know how autistic kids act?" She asked gazing up bored with her cigarette on her lip.

"Yeah," he took a drag and blew smoke out of his nostrils, his heel pressed up onto the wall and the fan sending the blue tendrils across the space between him, she watched it spiral over her head.

"It's the social form of that minus the intellectual deficits," she explained still eyeing the smoke.

"So you're socially awkward?"

"In general terms, it's more about being abnormally inclined to_ not_ be social."

"So no one invites you to their parties because you're boring."

"If you say so," she sniffed and put her cigarette between her teeth ready to get back to work.

"You_ are_ boring. Bland."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this."

She wondered why he was so keen on arguing his point, wrong as it was with her.

"Good."

The talking dwindled and she focused on puffing and letting her mind drift, letting it dive into the trenches it always seem to favor: an evitable journey through all topics sexual and mundane and medical and oddball referential. She got stuck up on how other people thought of her, wondering if she really came off as frigid and priggish, boring and bland.

"…that's weird," she spoke out loud without really meaning anything by it, or wanting a response.

"…," Derek Hale swept his gaze down lazily and then back up when he realized she was talking to herself.

"Do werewolves live longer?"

"Yes. Our cells heal faster and more normally, even as we age."

She nodded and dropped the cigarette between her fingers and ground it into the cement floor with her boot, "Maybe I become a geneticist now then," she stated dragging the butt back and forth and then picking it off her sole and flicking it at his feet.

"Why would you do that?"

It was a reaction that made her never want to tell anyone anything ever again because it was so damn irritating to hear something so unintelligent come out of someone's mouth, she decided that Derek Hale probably thought that the subject couldn't possibly ever be interesting or worthwhile or applicable to real life.

"Because I want to."

"Don't they make test tube babies and stuff like that?"

Unintelligent, she thought wanting to growl at him for being so obvious and predictable in his stupidity, "Some do, I want to splice stuff though. Create something. I guess I want to be a genetic engineer," she settled for saying, sighing to herself.

"Sounds exciting," he deadpanned sounding unenthused.

Lucette no longer felt the urge to speak to him directly, she just talked at him.

"With an emphasis on brain development and physical retuning, I had a dream once about being a brain in a jar."

She had liked that particular dream even though she'd woke up profoundly disturbed and unsettled by just how much she had liked being a brain in a jar in the dream.

"…," he blew out a plod of wayward curlicues and spinning spirals.

"Sometimes I think I'd like that."

"This is a strange conversation to watch you have with a washing machine," he told her eyeing the end of his cigarette.

"I'm having a conversation with you."

"You think so, don't you?"

He sounded amused.

"You think this _isn't_ a conversation, ask a question or something if you feel like the washing machine is getting all my attention."

She let her lips separate and pull up while she clenched her teeth in a way that felt like an old woman might tell her was saucy.

"I really don't need your attention."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together but curved sharply at the side away from him, and then it was there wading through her, out of the deep and into the shallows climbing up onto shore. _It_ said hello and she felt like she was smiling sassy at it instead of Derek Hale's silly, unintelligent retorts.

"Everyone wants attention, Mr. Hale."

"…"

"…"

She came back to herself and told _It _to be good and not be so bold as to try and put words into her mouth and on her tongue to savor and speak.

"Why did you start talking about being a scientist and a brain in a jar?"

"Because I realized that aspergers is the same thing as another thing and that someone should try and figure out why that is instead of keeping two different names for the same thing or see if one's because of nature and the other because of nurture."

"What is it the same as?"

"Schizoid personality disorder."

"So bipolar disorder."

"_Totally_ different thing, I have a book about it upstairs. Completely different, so different that if they were animals one would have fins and the other would have wings."

She felt _It_ get bored and trot off somewhere on the edge of her thoughts, surveying the landscape of her mind and the emotional terrain.

"…so what made you a bratty kid."

"I wasn't a brat, I was cruel. I said that already," she corrected him.

"Fine, but they're pretty much the same."

They weren't but she didn't say it like that, she didn't just want to say things, she liked to explain them.

"Brats have a limit they toe the line of; cruelness doesn't go away because you punish someone. It's always there, you can't just give a kid like that a smack and have them never do it again."

"So what did you do?"

Lucette remembered how crisp certain moments of her childhood were in her mind, how they shone vibrant and plush and inviting and so very ripe for psychoanalysis, she picked a particularly disquieting instance.

"When I was seven, eight, around there, I was on the bus and there was a third grader who was older than me who was really nice and I guess one of us, me I think, came up with the idea to see how far we could bend our fingers back, so she bent mine and stopped when I told her too and then I did hers and when she told me to stop I didn't and I kept going until I broke her finger."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to see what it was like to break someone's finger. I probably came up with the idea knowing I was going to do it."

She and _It_ knew there was no 'probably,' only the certainty that she wasn't going to tell him about, it would turn the disquieting into the horrific and of all the things she wanted Derek Hale to be, horrified wasn't one of them, it was annoying to deal with people who found the things once did horrific instead of just bratty or cruel.

"That's depraved."

Tilting her head and splaying her hands in the air she was telling him, without words and without any shame and just a dash of pride that came from _It_, that, yes, it was _depraved_. And, no, she didn't find that so abhorable. It was just something she'd done something that made her fingers prickle with the sensory memory of how it had felt to do it.

"I never tortured small animals or set things on fire or anything, I wasn't _that _kind of destructive or curious. I just wanted to break things and see how they got put back together, see if I could fix it."

"And you're a nurse." It was an accusation that made her whip her head at him as he lit up a new smoke and blew the first drag in her face. Her jaw hurt from the force of her clench.

"Yeah, I _am_. A good fucking nurse, a fucking _great_ nurse in fact."

Her knuckles ground together from the tightness of her grip on the screwdriver in her hand.

"But it's all fake, it's an act," he shrugged and berated her with the truth that any average person could come up with, it was the _easy_ thing to say, the _nice_ opinion to have, the morally _acceptable_ thing to believe.

She put down her screwdriver when she realized there was no way she was going to be able to pry the metal pipe from the wall with it, it had too thick of an edge.

The simple folding knife in the toolbox was something she'd forgotten about, something she'd forgotten had felt good in her hands, she enjoyed folding it open and then closed, the mechanical automation she could do without acknowledgment of her hands and fingers.

"So? It's a job. I get paid to be a nurse in attitude _and_ aptitude. You can't fake intelligence, you can fake personality. You don't like people like that, do you?"

She slapped the blade back into the handle.

"I think people like that just like to play pretend. It's_ easy_ to pretend."

She flicked it open with one motion that made the tendon between her thumb and forefinger stretch and burn.

"Why not play pretend, why show everyone and anyone who you _really_ are, why be so personal with everyone you meet, why not let someone try to figure you out?"

She repeated the movements in rapid succession and acknowledged his glare with a blankness that felt nice.

"Life's just a game right?"

Forcing the knife in between the wall and the pipe she pried at it and levered the plaster of the wall back.

"Game of power, sure," she told him. "People can opt out but the game still gets played, might as well learn to be good at it. Think about it," she yanked the pipe out of the wall and narrowly avoided slicing into the mound of flesh under her thumb when she forgot she was still holding the sharp instrument.

"I'd rather not play games."

"That's probably because you suck at playing Mr. Hale. Probably you don't like to play because you're bad at it and that upsets you but instead of learning how to be better you want to just want to go around and knock everyone down to the level that upsets _them_. That's power play, underhanded and ineffective but it's still power play."

Her voice was a low unnatural hiss, bluntly affected and measured out into a tone that compacted each word down hard and sharp.

"…"

"I said 'probably,' didn't I?" She looked at him and arched her head onto her shoulder her hands playing with opening and closing the sharp instrument she had yet to put down.

His eyes narrowed when they took hers in, they looked wide and questioning, fakely girlish and insipid. Behind them _It_ gazed out fierce and vehement, masked but peeking out, slowly, insinuating.

"I wasn't saying that that's what you _do_ or _feel_ but it's likely that I'm right. Maybe I'm wrong. Don't pour your heart out or get angry it's just an opinion and Jesus_ fucking_ Christ!"

She snapped the knife closed and then open and stabbed at the plaster sideboard of the wall.

"Stop. Blocking. That. Fan."

He spun fast and sent it flying with a blow of his tensed forearm. It broke violent and loud, it's parts bouncing out across the cement floor.

"Thanks, I love fixing things; it's a hobby of mine in case you haven't noticed," she said rolling over her words eyeing the ruined appliance

"Shut the fuck up."

"Hngh," she intoned with a grim smile that pinched the last nerve holding his self-control intact.

He lunged and grabbed at her shirt tenting it as he yanked her up and his fingers blanched from the strength of his grip.

"Reading a lot of books doesn't make you_ smart_."

Her eyes narrowed and he grinned viciously.

"Being able to pretend to be a different type of person doesn't mean you're_ better_ than anyone."

She wiggled the knife out of the plaster.

"Saying you're detached doesn't mean it doesn't_ kill_ you when they don't fall for the bullshit."

He grabbed her wrist and she let the knife drop without any fight, it made his eye twitch because he knew she was mocking him.

"You aren't powerful; you're still just dumb and weak, _playing pretend_."

Lucette craned her neck up and gripped the top of the washing machine to raise her torso to force his back and away. Her knees were cramping against the hard floor, she bent her toes and moved into a deep, obtuse crouch. Her quadriceps were tensile and hard and started to burn but the added two inches of height the stance gave her wasn't something she was about to give up.

"And everyone is still better at this game than you are. Nobody _wants_ to follow your lead; they do it because they need to. And look at whose lead _you're _following, you want me around on a short leash so in case something goes wrong you've got a way out and the only reason I'm here is because I need to be, not because you're a paragon of leadership and camaraderie and I _want_ to."

His eyes were the blue of something that could have sparked off of a Tesla invention, the eyes of Frankenstein's monster with the memory of lighting forking out in electric licks, destructive and arbitrary; she felt the opposite, devious and devoted to digging whatever it was out of him that made him so unrestrained because she didn't like his eyes or his claws on her like that, as if he was the biggest, baddest thing around and she was supposed to be cowed because of it.

"…"

His mouth was a snarling fracture of pointed enamel and wet strands of saliva.

She arched her chest into his for the way it made her taller and forced him back as if he'd been scalded, jumpy nerved and alert where she was languid and liquid bones.

"You've got no power at all _Derek_; you should learn how to get some otherwise no one will invite you to their party because they'd rather forget about you than acknowledge you exist," she mocked with wide eyes and her lips set viciously curved and pulled up from teeth that were sharp and long and made for something that lived in deep, dark places.

"…"

He pushed her and left lines of ripped skin on her collar bone and throat, nothing drastic but not so fine or delicate to not draw small orbs of blood out of her flesh.

Her foot rolled over the small pipe parts and she fell back to crack her skull against the floor, her head bounced and she rubbed at the spot feeling the pain subside fast and the knob forming even out just as quick as it came.

It faded under her finger tips and she sucked her teeth finding that she'd lost her fangs; it was disappointing for some reason she couldn't quite articulate or flesh out in her mind.

The only remaining sign of Derek Hale in the room were his abandoned, still lit cigarette on the floor. She left it and let it burn itself out, it felt like a small symbolic gesture, of what she couldn't decide.

She went back to work and found that all the various parts she'd been working with had been strewn about and put out of place.

Picking up a random metal bit she examined it with her mind clearing and resettling itself from its previously predatory bent, "Now where do you go my oddly shaped friend? Ah! Right with this one. Mister washing machine I am so good at twisting your screws, of this are you aware?" She banged her head back into the metal and let it hum.

"Tis true tis true I say! And adieu adieu to you too…woohoo," she rhymed with a monotonous beat.

She sneezed a moment after wiping at her nose with a dirty arm.

"Ha! Achoo. I wish 'onomatopoeia' rhymed with that, I would be the shit at Shakespearean rap is it did, right washing machine?"

Lucette grinned at herself and looked at the metal pieces on the floor, spinning them idly with her fingers and arranging them by which joined with each other.

"The boy part connects to the…girl part. The boy part connects to the…girl part. La la la la la la…laaaaaaaaaa."

Her cell phone jingled a rock and roll tune and she pressed at the key with the green telephone not recognizing the number that her screen flashed.

"Hello?"

"Stop. Singing." Derek Hale ground out.

Her mouth fell open; she had expected him to leave instead of stick around. She wished he'd left, "If you're going to get pissed off at least leave the house and slam the door behind you. Don't act like my wife."

"You must _really_ like fixing things."

She hung up and heard something break a moment later upstairs.

Taking the basement stairs two at a time she skidded into her kitchen and looked around the fridge at her broken back door. She listened and heard no other heart beating or lungs breathing, no other sound of any other living creature in her house besides her.

"Real smooth. How about I find out where _you_ live and burn it down? Fuck, what is wrong with him." She spoke to herself, walking outside and taking in the door's extensive destruction and the parts of it lying across the deck.

She heard him before she saw him.

"Dude!" Lucette swiped at the hand ripping into her arm, spinning her around. Her evasion skills were severely lacking she decided when she realized she wasn't fast enough to dodge the fist coming at her jaw.

"Motherfucker!" She snarled and spat blood on his shoes, and there was nothing in her besides animal rage and the seething, filling need to _rip_ his jaw off and use it for an ashtray.

"Calm down!" He swayed away from her and over the deck railing; she swung onto the small ledge and sat on it, feet pressed flat against the vertical beams beneath. Tracking him with her eyes, she waited for him to step back and put more distance between them that she would savor lunging across.

"…," she wondered if he knew she was imagining the crack and crunch his sternum would make as she punched it into pieces, she was.

"I'll hit you again." He didn't look especially aggressive without the _It_ in him looking at her through Teslan blue eyes.

"Do it," she commanded with a low rolling growl that came from her chest.

"…"

He did nothing besides make a fist that she eyed and sneered at.

"Do it!" Blood flecked spittle flew off her teeth and onto him, he didn't so much as flinch.

"…"

Tsking she made her fingers curve and clench and pulled her arm back tightly, coiled and ready to yank out his trachea.

And then he did, and unconsciousness was velvet lined and deep and dark and sweet because _It_ was there and wanted to curl up close with her inside her head, inside her bones.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **In case some of you are confused "_It_" is the werewolf part of Lucette that she's trying to be able to become at will instead of being forced to become when Derek starts training her or when she gets hurt. Still violent tension going on, I guess it comes off sexual to a lot of you reading and maybe that's a good thing but it's not intentional and I'm not writing it trying for it to be sexual tension if that makes sense to you. The boy in the library is Stiles, the passenger in his Jeep is Scott and they are talking about Derek. The stuff about aspergers and personality disorders is abbreviated but accurate and nonetheless interesting to me as someone who had to learn about them. The color references to cigarettes are based on the boxes they come in, Derek smokes regular Marlboros, Lucette smokes Marlboro Lights, the plum ones are Marlboro Virginia Blend. I imagine Lucette's workout music as something that has a lot of drum, heavy bass, and male vocals going on, the song she flips past while talking to Derek I imagined as The Bloodhound Gang's "Bad Touch" but any song with dirty lyrics can work I guess. Lucette was crying while on the phone with Molly for anyone who might be confused by that part. I wrote this chapter the way I did intentionally, I wanted it to come across part strange, part confusing, part convoluted because it's a largely introspective chapter focusing on what is changing in Lucette mind wise and her mind is well not a structured well-kept place, it's a jumble of thoughts and emotions at this point in the story.


	9. The Pervasive

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual content

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **So this chapter may look shorter but it's still 10,000 plus words I've just compacted the text a little bit because I like the look of it better, if you like it more spaced out tell me and I'll change it back. This chapter takes place during episode ten and before eleven so for those of you who don't remember Derek is captured by Kate so he won't make a full-out appearance in this chapter. Sorry for the wait, I live on the East Coast and Hurricane Irene stopped by to say hello and knocked some power-lines down.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 53:<strong>

She woke up furious, stayed up until it mellowed to calm rage, went back to bed seething and when she woke up again she was only mildly irritated. Until she looked in her garage and found his black Camaro parked in the free space between the tool wall and carpentry desk and then in a wild swing of emotions she ping-ponged between childish malicious glee and absolute volatility.

Lucette let her fingers drift lazily over the tools hanging on their hooks and in their plastic encasements, she paused and tap-danced her nails across a metal file and then stroked the handle of it as she removed it and measured the weight.

The sound of it ruining the paint job was almost erotic. She wondered where the bullet holes had come from but didn't dwell on them long enough for it to be more than a cursory thought.

Derek Hale was going to kill her, the idea made her smile as she went to split wood with her music player set to a country song about destroying someone's car.

She twirled the splitter on her palms and wondered when he was going to show up, soon she hoped hefting the tool over her shoulder and bringing it down with an ease that she was glad to have developed, the log burst apart like ripe fruit and she beamed with pride as she tossed the halves onto a pile that was reaching a proportion close to absurd.

A deer skirted around the edges of the visible woods and jerked its head up every time the crack of the splitter into a log rang out. It was familiar; she remembered the heartbeat of the doe from when she'd been pushing pins out in her living room. Something small crashed through the underbrush, she tilted her head and trekked its path in her mind forgetting about the wood in favor of enjoying the crispness of the day, the smell of the leaves and wet dirt and earthworm musk and the tang of little white mushrooms spurting up from the damp ground.

She heard the plush squish of paws over wet leaves and turned and let the large animal nuzzle her palm with its snout. With a twist of her torso and casting the splitter back with one arm she stuck it into the chopping stump.

"Hello there," Lucette gazed down and rubbed at the pooch's head. Looking up at the woods she paused, "I wonder where that other mutt is," muttering to no one. "What do you think, Brigs?" She looked back down and squatted to be at the dog's level.

"Should I punch him in the balls?" When she received no answered she tried to look cross, "Hmmm?"Lucette let herself fall back onto the ground and twigs and leaves. "He _did_ leave me unconscious on the back porch, and it _did_ rain on me, and divine retribution is hard to come by these days, ya know?" Brigadier licked her face and drool fell out of his jowls and onto her collar.

"Oh, you are back to being my sweet boy, huh? I love you dopey boy, you hear me, I _love_ you. Oddles. Wanna kick it?" She raised an eyebrow and leveled her stare with seriousness. She sprung and started to run across the yard.

"Dude, you gotta run faster than_ that _if you wanna catch me," she yelled when her dog happily gave chase, she let him catch her and raised her arms in mock surrender. "How about…we go on an adventure?" She asked tapping her chin. "I wanna go to the sport's place but I _guess_ we can go to the pet store."

She peered into the woods again as if expecting Derek Hale to interrupt her fun.

"What do you think, should I get dressed you think? Or should I go all sweaty bastard? You're getting smelly, Brigs. So I'll give you a bath and then I'll get ready and we can both look _sue-purr_ cute. Oh, I'm sorry. You're not cute; you're handsome, very handsome, and so charming too."

Lucette made the decision to go back inside with one last lingering glance on the trees.

Making the choice that she was no longer going to be caught in any state of undress she picked out her clothes before she took a shower and locked the connecting bedroom door into the bathroom.

Her stomach rumbled nosily as she fussed over her face and hair in the mirror and as she went about performing basic bodily functions before stripping and turning the shower spray to scalding. The heat and steam made her woozy and her hunger only more profound.

She swayed and put a hand across the tiles savoring the lightheaded haze, she looked from behind a wet curtain of hair at the awful and unsightly hole in the tiles where the soap-dish had been and frowned, deciding that she'd have to fix it or pay damages to the home owners.

Making a mental note to visit the home improvement store she turned off the shower and stepped out to get dressed. Her stomach roiled and her thoughts turned to food, and then to rabbits and deer. She wondered if she could catch a rabbit but shook off the idea when she realized it wasn't a thought that came from her but rather from the thing lurking around on the edges of her thoughts.

She settled for cereal and chased off the idea of breaking small animals and consuming them raw as she chewed and swallowed. Catching her lip between her teeth and pulling a strip loose she ran her tongue over the burning slash and relished the metal and salt flavor. It soothed something in her gut that had since waking up been tumbling around, leaden and cold.

Her nails had gotten long she noticed, she let her spoon clink against the glazed ceramic of the bowl and brought her fingers to her mouth to bite them down. Pausing to consider them she cast the idea aside like something old and used, she could keep them long since she wasn't working anymore.

Grabbing a file and her cosmetic bag she worked until they were of equal length and a stunning coral that she matched to her outfit. She deemed it necessary to do her toes too when she settled for heels instead of sneakers realizing that sometimes it was nice to play dress up for herself.

She primped and accessorized and arranged her hair and felt victorious and suitably girly for the first time in a long time. Her dog padded along down the steps with her to the back of the pick-up and jumped in. Lucette slammed the tailgate up and drove faster than normal and wishing that she was in something a little more speedy and wieldy.

Slowly to a stop at a red light she wondered if Derek Hale had left the keys to his Camaro, there were a few back roads she centered her mind's eye on that cops wouldn't be stationed on and a bullet holed keyed-up sports car wouldn't be noticed on when it got dark.

The idea was appealing in the best bad way that she almost turned around instead of carrying on with her errands. She pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall boasting an assortment of shops and eateries. She smiled at the way her heels clicked across the hard floor of the athletic shop as she browsed every aisle and meandered through the wares.

Spinning an orange metal tennis racket over the inside of her fingers she ran her nails over the lines strung across the frame and gave a glance around the end of the aisle before cracking open a tube of yellow balls and testing it's bounce. The options were endless now that she could actually run and jump and skid along on a court without pain. She could play for longer than an hour now if she wanted to.

Lucette tapped the ball up and down against the racket and looked over the other rackets, she liked orange as a color but the brand wasn't a pro one and she scowled at the plain colors of the more pricey more professional rackets. The only other orange one was obscenely priced and a more garish shade that she wasn't particularly fond of.

She scowled and tapped the ball up hard, it flew off and bounced down the aisle banging into things and rattling them, nothing fell and she breathed a sigh of relief. A sneakered foot stamped down on it, stopping its roll of escape out of the aisle.

If she'd been younger and had less on her mind she would have started drooling, it was the freckles, freckles got her every time. She suppressed the urge to whistle.

"Runaway?" His smile had wattage to it, and she wondered if he had dentists for parents. He was that stage of boy just on the cusp of manhood, with less than three percent fat and velvet skin pulled over every muscled bit. But still, he was undeniably highschool and too much boy where she preferred man.

"Can't keep a hand on my balls. Sorry. Throw," Lucette almost rolled her eyes at herself but didn't so much as show that what she said was humorous on her face, she kept her eyes chilly and her small grin stoic.

He lobbed the ball high and she teetered on her heels to catch it firmly in her hand, she let it roll back into its canister and clicked the lid back in place tightly.

"Nice catch."

"Thanks."

"Beginner?" He pointed at the racket and she looked at, spinning it idly out of habit.

"Not really. You?"

"Not my sport," he really had a killer smile. She eyed the maroon helmet under his arm and pointed.

"Hmmm, football?"

He shuffled and looked at the heavy melding of plastic and metal under his perfectly showcased in tight white cotton arm and smiled up at her. "Lacrosse."

"Violent," she commented hanging the orange racket back up and eyeing a red one.

"Violent enough."

"I can imagine," she got the feeling girls paid him too much attention because of the frown she caught from the corner of her eyes marring his handsome face as she perused the rackets instead of him.

"Tennis can be dangerous too."

"Yeah?" She questioned with a sage look that told him he was trying too hard. He seemed suddenly bashful and it made her heart swoon a little because he was young and cute and liked to hit on girls and not quite sure how to apply his technique to older woman. "I guess, sure," she took the red racket off the wall and stepped back to serve an imaginary ball, her shirt crawling up her abdomen and flashing a tease of skin that she knew he'd look at not knowing she did it on purpose for her own benefit.

"Yo, come on! I gotta pick up Colin!"

He turned his head to the voice that was no doubt calling to him, "Alright! I'm coming." Rubbing the back of his head and lowering his eyes he gave her a dazzling half quirked boy smile.

"Gotta go," he shrugged as if to say 'what can I do, right?'

"Yeah," she let her eyes drift across her racket slowly and made him wait for the rest of what she was going to say, just in case it was something he needed or wanted to hear, like her digits or her name, "Gotta go." She grinned when he came to the conclusion that he'd get neither out of her.

He stood awkward and less infused with bravado than he'd swaggered up with, oddly silent as if searching for something a cool guy would say to an older chick.

"Take it easy, kid." She told the red racket as she mimed lobbing a ball from a backhand in the middle of the aisle.

"You too," he answered automatically as he strode away denied of any more attention, he'd get more when he got to school, she was too old to find teenage antics amusing or endearing anymore.

She had money so she splurged and went with obscene as her price range; the red lacquer of the racket was growing on her.

The dumbbells were arranged by color and she picked a heavier set than she was used to and grabbed a boxed pull-up bar and arranged her goods under her arms and in her hands and clicked her way to the counter with a long stride that caught a few looks that made her smile girlishly and coyly.

Going into the pizzeria further down she bought and then consumed the greasy cheese covered slices with her dog on the pulled down tailgate in the parking lot and watched cars pass by in flashes of white and red lights against the asphalt. It was nice, it felt normal, and she liked the ease of eating pizza with her dog as night grew darker and the air got colder.

**Day 54:**

There was sweat creeping along the curve of her ass inside her jeans and spackle in her hair and her nails were going to need another polish job after she climbed out of the tub. Running a wrist over her forehead she sat back on her haunches and scrutinized her work.

It was harder than she thought it would be to retile the small area, and took a lot longer than she had intended. In the back of her mind she wondered where the hell Derek Hale was and wherever he was if he was still pissed off at whatever it was he'd been pissed off enough to hit her over.

The idea of him made her slap spackle onto the tiles harder than necessary and want to key his car again, or drive it into a tree or up one or around one or in any other car to tree collision scenario.

Thinking of trees made her shiver with nervous excitement. She'd been eyeing her property line every time she'd gone outside to the deck to walk off irritation or the antsy tension that came if she stayed inside for too long. She wanted to climb a tree she decided slapping the soap dish into the last space between tiles and held it tightly until it stuck.

The sky was a bleak gunmetal grey and the air was crisp like ice and whipped the leaves into tiny ground bound cyclones that crinkled and swirled around always a few feet from her tread but never over it, it seemed strange to notice that leaves did things like that all of a sudden, Lucette wondered if a person stood still for long enough if the leaves would eventually swirl around them.

But she supposed that if they did someone would have said something and she would have heard about it, would have seen it happen. She kicked leaves out of her path joylessly preoccupied with them but after a few steps stopped to kneel and arrange them around her unable to shake the idea of little leaf cyclones.

She circled them around her and stood up, waiting. The wind stirred them over her shoes and rolled them away across the dead gray grass. The whole failed exercise put her in a bleak mood that made her want the wind to wail out something mournful to match, it didn't and she was disappointed.

Inside her shoes her feet were itchy with sweat, she took them off and walked until the feel of leaves that snagged on her socks began to itch and she took them off and shivered from her toes up to her shoulders as the chill snaked up her soles and heels. The frozen numbness that settled into the tiny bones of her feet and ankles wasn't unpleasant, it was electric and made her calves burn as the muscles tensed. It was a neat feeling that made her keen in her throat.

There was a subliminal wildness to being barefoot in autumn, to run the pads of her fingers over the gooseflesh pimpling her arms, to have her hair tangle itself into knots as the wind lashed at it and threaded in leaves and dirt. It felt natural, it made her bones thrum and her muscles tremble, pent up energy sparking out and springing loose.

Her fingers and palms caressed the bark of the tall pine she made her way to and Lucette peeled off her sweatshirt to rake her forearms against the rough snagging surface of the trunk, it left red furrows across the delicate skin on the inside of her arms.

The climb made her breathing quicken and her heart race, branches tugged at her hair and bark and green needles caught the delicate flesh under her nails, pine cones pricked her face and arms and left the itch of sap in the tiny punctures the spiky lumps left.

But the view was superb and she sat in a cradle of heavy branches and the trunk at her back. Adrenaline spun itself like silk over her blood vessels and diffused into the stream that chased itself through the network of arteries and veins and capillaries, oxygen stabbed at her lungs, painful and exquisite.

The wind made her eyes tear and squint themselves, she rubbed her soles against the branch she lounged stretched out on and then pressed her heels over the knobs of the branch, her nails picked and peeled away lines of sap from the branch overhead and she shook her hair out into the needles and small twig projections, fanning it around her head and face and letting it knot and tangle and snag like a spider web of burnished red and brown.

She felt like a nymph, like a wild hunter, like an extension of the tree and she felt the sentience of her mind mute itself and hum, and the thing that was in her, the second nature melded and fused with her and languished with her on the branch, charming and cloying like an old lover offering comfort she was more than pleased to indulge in again.

Lucette wanted to call that second nature dangerous and dodgy, a tricksy thing that she should never dwell on, even in her most private of thoughts but she couldn't because it wasn't. It wasn't poisonous and it wasn't volatile, it was just there, a lingering taste on the back of her tongue, an echo of some quiet tune in her ears, a remembered sensation across her skin, a distortion across the span of her stare, a faint perfume of something on the breeze that made her tingle.

It was her.

It was everything she'd ever wanted to become.

Strong and fast and fierce.

It wasn't a beast that wanted to howl and hunt, it was a different shade of nature that wanted to feel and touch and have and take, it was hungry and she knew if she'd try to starve it would only become ravenous, only then would it be disloyal, it would listen, even delight in what she wanted but it wouldn't be ignored, it wouldn't be caged and forgotten about.

Something moved fifty feet below, skirting through the leaves loudly, its heartbeat a wild tattoo of excitement and tension. She stretched herself forward onto the tree limb moving her torso over her toes and her neck craning down through the pine needles and the cross hatch arrangement of tree limbs.

Her vision blurred peripherally and focused centrally, her eyes adjusting to the spatial difference of height and cutting out unnecessary details on the edges to make her gaze direct and free of distracting visuals. The hare was skittish and plump; its scent was an acrid bite of urine, wet fur, and open air.

The elongation of her teeth wasn't painful as she let her jaw line widen and reshape itself, her nails lengthened out of the cuticles without blood and shredded bark with no effort, and she moved her head so her hair fell off the twigs to settle down her back and over her shoulders.

Swinging down the branches silent and with the wind to drown the sound of cracking twigs she let her feet dangle and finally dropped gradually to the length of a thin limb soft and quiet, her arms holding most of her weight. When she landed on the ground it was on a patch of moist earth devoid of leaves. The small animal didn't even twitch its ears at her silent prowl closer.

When it smelled her she was already coiling her arm and snapping it out a second later to catch its raised hind legs before it bounded off into the underbrush. It struggled hard and its paws pushed at her arm and nose when she brought it up to her face to study and consider its wet, bulging eyes.

Fear had a tang to it that made her mouth water, too much would ruin her appetite and sicken her but just enough sweetened the meal to come. Even though she tried to be careful and patient the frightened and frantic struggle made her snap the hare's hind legs like dry twigs, rabbit urine rolled in streams down her knuckles onto the leaves and her denim covered knees, the screeching and braying of the broken creature made her growl and drop it in surprise.

The bundle of brown tawny fur tired to spring away but it faltered and delicate bones popped and split out of the thin stretch of skin covering its haunches, her fingers reached out and picked it up, she brought it close to her chest and cooed lovingly to the dying creature before the moist crackle of its neck snapping silenced it's yelping pleas and wasted efforts of escape.

She picked and pulled off the ticks from its coat and punctured the flesh between its ribs to pull its diaphragm apart. Merciless in gutting it she examined its remaining innards, red and purple with lines of slate blue, moist and glistening in the skyline splash of dusky periwinkle and indigo of impending nightfall.

Its heart was gristle and strings of tough muscle, its liver alternated between textures of soft and gritty, its lungs were thin and filmy and stuck to the roof of her mouth and teeth like an overblown bubble of chewing gum, they were all tiny and doll-like, miniatures of what she might find inside some bigger mammalian creature. Sample size her mind supplied with a hint of wry amusement.

The marrow she sucked from cracked long bones was briny and thick like salt and good soup; she licked the taste from her teeth and memorized the feel of its empty skin with her fingertips. Next time she'd make it a cleaner kill she vowed standing and leaving its remains for the forest.

It took well after sunset for her to come back to herself and her more human inhibitions. The weight of what she had done didn't settle so heavily upon her, her full stomach didn't sicken her like she thought it would, and there was no urge to vomit the ill-gotten meal out of her system. It had been just a rabbit, and though it made her eyes moisten that it had suffered before she killed it she felt no grief over having done it.

She felt curious and out of sorts, but guilt never came and lingered. She'd been hungry so she ate a rabbit. Simple, she decided, she hadn't done it to savor its fear or to hurt it, she was just hungry.

With a sigh she picked herself up from the porch and studied the tarp covered hole where her back door had to be, the drill battery was charged and it needed to be fixed she decided to tackle one more thing on her to-do list before settling in for the night in front of the television to wait for Derek Hale to make an appearance.

**Day 55:**

Dawn smelt cold and dusty, but the leather interior of the sleek car was heady and undeniably male. The stick shift was a nice touch and the thrill of sitting in the driver's seat held an undercurrent of rippling danger, she doubted he'd_ not_ notice her scent in the car the next time he went to drive it. She doubted he'd brush the gesture off with casual ease.

Derek Hale was _really_ going to kill her, she thought. It excited her violently.

She found an extra key tucked up in the sun visor. He was begging for his car to be taken for a joy ride with that gesture and there was no wavering when she peeled out from the garage after letting the engine idle for a few minutes and revving it before putting it in reverse.

He deserved her taking hair pin curves at eighty miles an hour and double clutching for not showing up and leaving his car to tempt her. She was going to get murdered; she didn't let the thought bother her too much. She'd die happy. Even the wheel spinning under her hands made her smirk.

The success of the joy ride was so close to perfection that she half-expected something to shatter it, like him showing up in her garage as soon as she pulled in ready to tear off her legs, hang her upside down like a scared rabbit and pull her chest apart, the thought was so potent she actually wondered if she _wanted_ to find him tapping his foot and crossing his arms and scowling when she got back, ready to dismember her.

There was no one in her garage and no one in her house except her dog and when she climbed out of the car and put the key back in the visor. She felt a pang of regret for marring the perfection of the sleek speed machine with the tool file. It was done and she didn't know how to fix a paint job, he'd have to figure out how to take care of that himself. She'd pay for the damage she decided, an olive branch, bridging the gap her mind intoned.

Her body was hot and fueled up on untapped energy; she realized that she was undeniably horny. The day was just starting and a joyride and getting off was a not bad way to kick it off she decided already picking out music to get off to and kicking her shoes to the foot of the stairs. Hers fingers depressed the door lock down from inside her bedroom and she pulled the rumpled bed covers to the bottom of the mattress before arranging herself on her stomach.

She tried to think of a suitable fantasy drudging through the most violent and perverse recesses of her mental sexual catalog. Something horribly depraved and debauched that she would just have to think about to get wet, never mind actually put her fingers and hands to work. In that unaccountable part of her mind where every urge held the undercurrent of violence and foul brutality, the Id of her personality, the part of the unconscious they called the primitive, the animal but there was nothing _animal_ in constructed rage and created arrangements to kill and fuck in the most inhuman ways one could think of, no, nothing animal about that, just the dark half-soul of uncultivated and unrequited cravings and unspoken pleas to be hurt or injure something else she was wading through.

Being bitten hadn't made that place in her mind any darker or deeper or more profound in its immensity, in fact _It_ scoffed at the idea of needing a complex scenario of fucking and being fucked in elaborate, impossible ways. Animals were simple, there was nothing more human than complexity and lack of pattern in behavior, habit existed in humans but it wasn't the same thing.

Her hips pressed down into the mattress, but her fingers merely clenched into the sheet over the mattress, fisted the material as she tried to run a circle around her thoughts, her abdomen clenched and she imagine what it would feel naked against someone else, ridges of muscles sweat slick and rolling over another body, she wanted to bite down on knuckles shoved so deep into her mouth her jaw cramped, she settled for the pillow under her face.

She wanted her thighs to shake and her hips to bruise from the slam of someone else's, she wanted to have someone's throat under her hands she wanted a forearm pressed tight against her windpipe, a hand yanking her hair, she wanted to rake her nails across someone's face.

Holding her breath she moved her hands between her denim encased thighs and shoved her groin into the cradle her thumbs made. She fixated on how sharp male stubble would chafe the tender inside of her thighs, her throat, the shape and color of the crenellated marks teeth would leave behind on her hips and ribs, how tight the shackle of fingers could be around her biceps if someone was lifting and pulling her up or turning her around.

The imagined weight of a heavy body across her back and the fixation of kneecaps pushed into the hollows behind her own made her rhythmic grind and frottage shaky and spastic. A fantasy of a hand splayed over the back of her neck and an arm like iron yanking across her hips and a long slow lick up her spine with the flat of a hot branding tongue made her let out a ragged breath into the pillow and a weak mewling pour out of her throat, it distracted her for a moment and made her thrusts falter.

Her shoulders burrowed further down into the mattress and her breasts pushed themselves flat as she kept her torso static and her hips snapping forward and back over the bed, harder into her cramping hands. Inhaling hair she rubbed it away from her mouth with the pillow and imagined strong wrists encircled with her fingers and her feet tangled around hard muscled shins while she bounced through the jerky motions of riding someone.

It tingled and waved like heat in its first stirrings across the base of her hairline in sticky prickles of beaded perspiration and then in-between and underneath her scapulas, twirling inward between her thighs and around her spine a tight ribbon, the throb and pulse came and built before stopping and she slowed and thrusted viciously seeking desperate friction and the throb burst and flared and she circled her hips and let the breath she'd been holding between chattering teeth and the wet mouthed pillowcase blow out in a great bellow.

The afterglow was the best and she rolled onto her back and ground the heel of her hand down of the zipper of her jeans, her muscles twitched and she let her heartbeat calm and slow and level out from the gallop she forced it to alighten to.

It was not a bad way to start the morning at all. She got up and did laundry while thumbing through her contacts on her phone, the lone voicemail she'd received while her phone was off was from her sister and said nothing else than a hello and a request to call back when she got the chance.

She called her sister and waited for the line to pick up.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to tell you that you have mail waiting for you."

"From who?"

"The lawyer, he's supposed to call you some time, he called me about what's going to happen after my birthday."

Lucette smiled knowing her sister was grinning on the other line because of the small joy the younger woman got from, for a few months being only a year separate in age instead of two. Being older, Lucette never understood why it made her sister so happy but it did.

"Oh yeah, twenty-one this year, now you can blow all that money.

"Not yet," the response sounded glum.

"Don't sound so blue, panda bear," she sing-songed back over the phone.

"He needs you to sign some stuff I think."

"Yeah about my account, it's all legal stuff."

"Duh, I know that lawyers deal with legal stuff. I'm not a dummy."

"I didn't mean to make it sound like you were a dummy. You're still okay with trading?" Lucette frowned at the thought that her sister would not go through with the deal they'd had standing for years.

"Yeah, I'm not really into the boat. You still not going to gimme the house?"

"Not a chance," Lucette grinned at the angry scoff at her answer.

"I don't know why _you_ got the house and I got the boat."

"Because you're younger, and really we're even if everything was about numbers."

"I like numbers."

Lucette rolled her eyes humorously with all the flair she could muster despite it going unseen, "And I like the boat. See it's perfect."

"Can we stay in the house this summer?"

"I'll think about it. I don't know if I'm taking another assignment after this one."

"Well _I _wanna have a vacation," her sister whined.

"Buy a house," she offered in response.

"I can't buy a house."

"Dad would try to make you buy a condo in Florida and move in with you so you could bake cupcakes and stuff for him."

"He had me bake him corn muffins yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he was like 'Stella come over, let's have dinner,' and so I made chicken and he made me move lawn furniture with him after because there's supposed to be a blizzard."

"He's not very nice."

"No he's not. Listen butthead I gotta go."

"Okay, hey."

"Yeah."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too, Lucy"

"Don't call me that, Ethel."

"Ethel? Oh, yeah haha, you are _so_ funny."

"I slay myself with rapier wit."

"What's rapier wit?"

"Sharp, biting, lashing wit."

"So that's what rapier means?"

"A rapier is a type of sword."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I really got to go though. I love you."

"I love you too."

"I'll call you later."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye bye."

Tires running over gravel at the start of the road leading to her house cued her to look down at her clothing and tie up her hair. She went to the window and moved the curtain to peek out at the driveway and the sheriff pulling into it. She let the curtain fall back into place and opened the front door as the older man stepped out of the car and shut the door with a quiet thump.

"Hi there, Miss Bramble."

"Wow, a house call?" She demurred leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. He climbed the steps and remained on the top one with a nervous half-cocked smile, "Is this a bad time?" Lucette shook her head in the negative, "No, what's up Sheriff?"

"Here," he held out a plain brown envelope with her last name written in black permanent maker scrawl. She took it and flipped it, bending the metal catches back and folding the flap over the prongs and slid the papers inside out far enough to gather that they were papers regarding a concealed carry permit for her gun.

"Oh, thank you."

"Did you think I was joking?"

"I did, actually. But thank you," she answered with a laugh that made him put a hand over his mouth to muffle his own and shrug his shoulders.

"No problem. I did a little detective work of my own and got copies faxed over to do the paperwork."

"You're a cool Sheriff…,Sheriff. Did you want to come in for a minute? I've got coffee." She pointed her thumb behind her and moved into the house, giving him space to come in. He walked forward and came in the house, "Sure, it's a slow day today."

Lucette set up mugs and showed him to the table, she made his the way he specified and sat down with her own plain black mug-full.

"Sorry about the mess. Brigs decided to be a bit rambunctious," she explained knowing that the debris of the backdoor was unsettling him. "Really?" She put on her best sheepish expression and rubbed the back of her neck and craned it to look at the door behind her.

"I was kind of being a goof and he decided that if I was going to taunt him with steak through a door that he'd break it down."

"Ah, I see," he leaned back in his chair and took a sip and examined her kitchen with an appraising gaze.

"So, any leads on the guy in the woods? Find the animal yet?"

"That's confidential information," he explained with a grin. "Sure it is," she joked back after a gulp.

"How's the nursing home?" Lucette took note of the misdirection but let it go, "They dropped my agency's contract."

"Oh?"

"The bureaucracy decided to pay us and show us the door, liability stuff. What can ya do? I'm not complaining it's a nice severance package." Waving a hand and offering a shrug she ignored the urge to complain about the unfairness of the situation. "So you're going home then?"

He sounded hopeful she realized, and his concern warmed her, "Oh, well…I've leased this house for nine months; the owners are on vacation so I haven't been able to get in touch with them yet."

"You can't break the lease?"

"I'm sure they'd be accommodating but, I don't know…, it was kind of a surprise and I'm here, and moved in and had this mindset that I was going to be here for awhile so…I guess, maybe, I might find another nursing job here. The agency is just a middleman I can still go solo."

"Glad to see our town hasn't scared you too much."

"It's not _that_ bad. It could be worse."

"I guess it could."

She got up and refilled her mug, she leaned against the counter. He looked tired she noted, worn down, like he hadn't slept or shaved in a while, a man on a mission that was going nowhere, a lab rat running through a maze that had no piece of cheese at the end.

"So what's the scoop, Sheriff?"

"You a reporter now too?"

Lucette tilted her head and rolled her eyes jokingly, "Just curious, I haven't flipped on the news in awhile, I've been a little busy lately with paperwork and running around."

"Well it's a small town; the news at ten usually knows things about as fast as we do."

"So you haven't caught Derek Hale yet?"

Sheriff Stilinski tensed and when his shoulders relaxed they didn't do so completely, "Not yet, we will. Just takes time."

"Did he really kidnap somebody? I get the breaking and entering stuff but not that part."

"Imprisoning people in a place they don't want to be is kidnapping after a certain amount of time, but really the actual charge isn't kidnapping its imprisonment."

"Oh, and what about Peter Hale? Have you found him yet?"

Silence spilled out of the man and he leveled a curious stare on her that made her want to straighten her posture but she remained as she was and forced herself not to let the look bother her, "Miss Bramble, how do you know about Peter Hale?"

Pausing before answering she realized that he thought that no one should know about Peter Hale's disappearance but felt an ease of mind with how she knew, there was nothing sinister in her knowing what was going on, it wasn't information that had come from Derek Hale, "Sheriff Stilinski you don't know many nurses do you?"

"Well just one."

"Oh?"

"…," he raised a brow at her and she realized he was talking about her.

"Oh, me. Wow, I'm a little dumb today I guess. Sorry. The last day I worked was the day after Jennifer went crazy and all the nurses are under this impression that Derek Hale took Peter Hale."

"What do you think?"

Tapping her nails she wondered if she could smooth out some of the wrinkles Derek Hale was making in town, it seemed like a wonderful peace offering that she could brag about and guilt him with if he was still pissed off for whatever was that had him perpetual pissed off at everyone and everything.

"Well, I guess it makes sense in a logical way, but why would Derek Hale come back you know? And if he's on the run how would he be able to evade police and drag along his uncle behind him and not get caught?"

"So you_ don't _think Derek Hale is involved?"

"…Well, I guess he _could_ be, but the whole story is confusing, I mean there's probably other stuff that you guys know that we don't and the news doesn't know but if I was like a private eye I'd say there's a missing piece to the puzzle."

"Private eye, huh?"

"Maybe, what do you think?" Lucette struck a pose, "I got the Beretta and I could get a fedora and a trench coat and I smoke already, I can do a mean Bogart impression."

"Heh, well if nursing doesn't work out there you go."

The Sheriff looked at the bottom of the chipped mug she'd given him, she gave him a refill and finished off the rest of the milk with it, she mused out loud as she threw away the empty jug, "Derek Hale didn't _seem_ to be a killer, you know. He was threatening, that night in the nursing home but he didn't have a psycho vibe, not really. And he was injured pretty severely; he couldn't have done that to himself."

"You think someone attacked him?"

She grinned knowing he couldn't see it and turned with her expression schooled into a masque of thoughtfulness, "Maybe, and it's just so wonky because, yeah, he showed up at the nursing home but why not just sneak into the supply room and get out fast? Why stay? He was there in the room for while before I noticed."

"You think he came to make sure his uncle was alright?"

"Yeah. That _is_ what I think," she told him as if just coming to the conclusion, she sat back down and stared off into space. "He seemed to care a lot about his uncle, and it's what I think any person would do if they thought someone they cared about was in trouble."

She went quiet suddenly and waited for the Sheriff to take note of her wide eyes and nervous lip chewing, "Miss Bramble? Is something wrong?"

"Just, jeez…," She let out a breath and scrubbed a hand over her hairline.

"What is it? Did you remember something?"

"No. Yeah, sort of."

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

She let her eyes stop jumping around the kitchen and stared back at man across her table, "Yes. There is. But like off the record?"

"Off the record?" The notion seemed to amuse him.

"Peter Hale's Haldol levels had been odd for awhile and since Jennifer was the med nurse…well you can fill in that blank. I can't really tell you this because of patient privacy stuff," he nodded understanding why she'd asked for 'off the record.'

"Go on," he urged leaning the tiniest of bits forward over the table, suddenly very interested in what she had to say, "Well, why would she want to not give him his sedative?"

Sheriff Stilinski leaned back, crossed his arms and spoke to the ceiling, "You think she wanted him responsive?" He let his eyes look at her from over his nose and tilted face.

"Well, as responsive as a semi-conscious patient can be," she shrugged, "But Jennifer's dead and Peter Hale is missing and Derek Hale is on the run and there's a big blank in the whole thing because if Peter Hale isn't with Derek Hale, where is he?" She spoke with her volume increasing with every point and tapping her fingernails to the rhythm of her speech.

"That's interesting."

"That's an evasive statement," she pointed at him as if she were jabbing her cigarette out. "But _I_ think_ if_ Derek Hale was making sure his uncle was okay that night after he _may_ have gotten attacked then that says something, don't you think? Maybe Derek Hale is on the run because of the police or maybe it's because of someone other than the police."

"Miss Bramble, do me a favor and don't become a newscaster."

"Trust me I won't," she waved her hands and sat back with a whoosh of air escaping her lungs, acting as if the whole conversation had taken a toll on her, it had done that much to the Sheriff. His heart beat a wild staccato inside his chest and an odd smile was trying to pull his lips wide but he didn't let it, "Thanks," he said letting a bit of the smile come out, it was gone a heartbeat later.

"No problem. I'm a fan of law enforcement, especially cool Sheriffs, who am I going to tell anyway? I'm like a damn hermit," she was smug and self-satisfied that the Sheriff now had some connections made between things and that there were small crawl-space openings where there had only been rock-fall in his kidnap slash murder slash wanted man case.

"What's it like not working?" He diverted the conversation; she noticed but didn't try to redirect him again. She'd done enough, she planted seeds and he'd look to cultivate them into someone or something that fleshed out his police report and his man-hunt.

"It's boring and it sucks. I hate not working."

"I'll keep my eye out for someone who needs a nurse."

"Appreciate it," she replied with a curt nod. His cell phone jingled and he flipped it open to read the text message the sound signaled. "Gotta get back to work?" She asked.

"My son. He's grounded," he explained jabbing at the keys and sending off a response.

"What'd he do?"

"Crashed his car into a parked car."

"Well it happens, I guess."

"He hit a deer last week."

"Maybe you should get him glasses."

They exchanged a stare and a few seconds of silence before his thoughts formulated, "…you think that's what the problem could be?"

"Maybe," she waved her head from side to side, "my sister was horrible in school until she told us when she was fourteen that she'd do a lot better if she could read the board."

"They can't just make it easy and _tell_ us they can't see, can they?"

"Of course not, that makes it less fun."

"Well, thank you for the coffee." He rose from the table and she offered to see him out to his car, "Thanks for the get outta jail free card. I'd totally vote for you but I think you have to be an actual town citizen."

"Haha, thanks anyway," he told her opening the door to his cruiser.

"I'd put a sign on my lawn but who would see it?" He laughed and she smiled.

"Have a good day, Miss Bramble."

"You too."

She watched him leave and then went out onto the back deck, it was a cold morning and she shivered in the light breeze that turned over leaves and knocked loose pine cones. She lit a cigarette and let her thoughts roll by lazily, she felt happy and content for a long time as she sat and watched the clouds and let her hands go numb and red from the chap of the breeze against her skin.

It was like a small dose of eternity that she was experiencing then, perfect and simple and she wanted the moment to last, to feel as if she was the only person that existed in the entire universe and it hurt to think that she couldn't sit and think like she was then forever.

And so when she heard the deer picking through the leaves she got up and climbed her tree to watch it, high up she looked down, still calm and content and noted the way it avoided the spot where the rabbit had died, it could scent the blood as well as she could.

Dead things and blood scared animals, it was a warning. The deer was scared of what had left the rabbit dead and bloody on the forest floor, cold and rotting and half-eaten. The deer was scared of her. The thought made her smile in savage glee, something was scared of her, of what she could do. She was a hunter in the dark, a stalker in a tree, a killer in the woods. An all too savory chill strolled up and down her spine like phantom fingers.

She crossed branches clumped close together and followed the deer's steps from high above, looking down while unsnagging her sweater from grabbing branches and sliding her sneakered feet across the sticky bark. When the wind snapped the trees into a harsh rhythm of reaching twigs and sharp sticking prickles she gave the deer one last glance and started her climb down and her trek back to the house.

Calling out to see if someone was waiting for her she came through the door with the full intention of being particularly waspish if he was there, he wasn't and she wondered what she would do with the rest of the day. She made coffee, she ate, she napped, she went for a run, she feed her dog, she took a shower, she watched the news, she sat on the deck, she saw the sun set, she fell asleep and woke up cold half-remembering a dream that made her cry, slowly, something pleasantly sad that reminded her of the conversation she'd shared with her sister, she'd been on a boat she hadn't seen in a long time and someone she hadn't seen in an even longer time was swimming and she'd watched from the bow, she felt homesick and tired, cold and old, she went inside and had a cigarette in the dim light of her kitchen feeling detached and robotic as her mind hibernated.

**Day 56:**

Anger ate away at her guts and made her wander aimlessly in the woods with her mind a spiral of mean words and meaner ideas, she was edgy and Derek Hale was being a prick. She wondered what it was with men that made them as temperamental as little girls sometimes, what made them spiteful enough to make other people so pissed off at them on purpose. It had been five days and after being used to having him show up every other day she found that his absence irritated her as much as his impromptu drop-ins did, at least with him around she could gripe, now she couldn't even do that.

The full moon was a week away and she wondered if that had something to do with her mood, she wondered how long he was going to be angry at her for being a bitch, and though she could admit she was a bitch she wasn't about to rationalize that as a reason to be a bigger bitch, which was all Derek Hale was proving to be with every day he didn't show up unannounced.

She'd hunted again, another rabbit farther away from the spot of the first when the urge struck to wait for the doe that she'd grown used to seeing to show up, that she'd stalked and spied on. The glaring of the afternoon sun conflicted with the icy temperature but even then she found that she was too hot in her own skin, burning up from the inside.

The festering rotting heat of anger made her nail beds bleed and her jaw shift into an uncomfortable set, _It_ was unsettled, and it wanted to hunt again. She killed three more rabbits and a solitary and skittish squirrel. _It_ knew what it was doing even if the more humane and human part of her mind didn't. It didn't want squirrels and rabbits to eat anymore, it wanted the deer.

Her deer.

She found it by the scent of it urine on the leaves, fragrant and sweet.

Her deer was cautious and ran when she stepped out in front of it. Wary of her it sprung away, she chased it and came out in front to spur it in the direction she wanted. It circled away from the scent of blood, like she knew it would, the circle of dead animals she'd left over two miles caroled it in, scared and unable to move in any direction besides the one she stood at, confused and unwilling the doe tried to sniff out a direction that smelled clean, untainted.

There was only one.

In its final dash it tried to go around her, she tore at the tender flesh under its tail and flanks where the large arteries were sequestered and the saying of being hungry enough to eat the ass out of a running deer made sense, though she wasn't about to sink her teeth into a deer rump her hands shot out with purpose and tore away delicate flesh until the doe fell jerkily and wailed to the trees.

She tore out its throat with her teeth and ate until warmth spiraled in her guts and eased the cramp of hunger and the knife stab of anger. When she finished she put her forsaken sweater over her bloody shirt and rubbed damp black dirt onto her jeans in case she was discovered in the woods by someone.

Wiping her fingers and mouth off with the inside of the fleece pull-over she started back and ran her tongue over the smooth wetness of her teeth, curling and pulling at the small strips of meat lodged between them in a few particularly irritating places.

She climbed her tree and napped with the flavor of iron inside her mouth, it lulled her and made her bones melt into the bark. The high wore off sometime after the moon glowed high above her tree with opulence and a taunting halo of blur that made her eyes bleary and drip viscously from the strain.

When she returned to her living room her dog sniffed at her a lumbered away weightily to another room not liking what she smelled of, she made a fire and watched it like she'd watched the moon, her face warming and her eyes slitted in the presence of its wafting rising heat.

The sound of it stung her ears and she whipped her body up and to the window, yanking aside the curtain and tossing up the window sill to take in the last dying notes of it without hindrance. The howl was a long low rumble, a memory of thunder reproduced and rolling out of someone's chest, mournful and desperate it made her hold her breath and listen, it wasn't a howl made by Derek Hale, she knew it wasn't, it didn't sound like a howl he would make.

Then when there came a response closer than the first howl and she knew if Derek Hale was going to howl then that was what he'd howl like, something keener with more reverberation to it, fiercer and bolder and frantic. The way dying things would how, final and hard.

She slammed the window back down and pushed away the waving fabric of the curtain to make long strides into her bedroom. The gun was loaded, and she attached it to her hip as she walked out and went to the laundry room to retrieve her folding knife from the toolbox.

With the direction of the second howl memorized and burned into her mind she focused on how far away it was, six miles, perhaps less, in the woods somewhere there was Derek Hale howling back at someone howling out for him. There was something happening that had kept him from showing up when he should have, something that wasn't a pleasant diversion or excursion.

The idea that he was howling like a dying thing because he was a dying thing made her tighten the laces on her boots enough to make her pulse throb in her shins.

She tore out the backdoor, flew over the deck railing and bolted through the woods.

Her lungs burned dryly and she ran close to the ground, kicking her legs behind her and roughening her palms on the cold ground and bark of fallen trees. The scent of charred wood coated the inside of her nosed and throat, she scaled a pine and maneuvered the branches from tree to tree no longer feeling secure to go by ground.

Blood was everywhere in the mile wide radius of where she was, it was unsettling and there were no animals roaming close by, they were scared, they had reason to be, something was hunting them, something like her was hunting them in large quantities.

She knew that she wasn't the only one who could climb a tree but it certainly made it harder to attack someone if they could hear you coming after them. Trees were hazardous, they added an element of hard terrain that was beyond what was on the ground, and all she could hope was that the distance and darkness was enough to hide her away.

There was quiet, encompassing and weighty like a smothering blanket that made it hard to breath. Lucette found herself snapping the bark off the branch above her head as she clenched and unclenched her toes in the leather grip of her firm boots sighing angrily and hoping for another howl, she knew she was in the general vicinity but that did nothing to divulge any clues as to where exactly Derek Hale and whoever the other howler were.

Lucette studied the shadows the burnt out husk of a house cast over what might have once been a spacious front yard. She settled against the trunk and let her foot hang and swing back and forth in time with the wind. The world was devoid of purposeful movement.

A large vehicle was coming from the east, the howls had been stationary and she wondered what was coming closer in four-wheel drive.

Something moved in the upstairs of the house, walking passed the broken window. From the corner of her eye she tried to follow its disappearance with her mind deciding where it was most likely going. She flicked the button on her gun holster open to avoid fumbling with it later.

Her aim was better but she wasn't about to try for an ace shot from a pine tree with a smaller than average hand-gun. She unfolded the knife from her back pocket and held it firmly with her arm languid and her muscles loose, easing her breathing and settling her mind to watch and wait and be prepared to jump if need be.

Then came the lilt of feminine tones, a duo crashing through the underbrush of the woods with the clicking and whoosh of objects moving and rustling against jeans and leather, the scent of perfume and hair product carried to her by the wind through the trees, it made her glad that she hadn't changed from her bloody and dirt smeared clothing, it masked her scent into something in tandem with leaves and sap and pine needles and the bite of ice in the wind.

Whatever was inside the house went out into the yard behind it in the shape of a man without so much as a glance at her tree but sparing one back at the house as it moved into the forest. Whoever it was it wasn't Derek Hale and it wasn't scared of whoever was coming from the woods from the east and advancing on the decrepit burned mess of the ruined house.

Whoever had come out wasn't leaving, they were repositioning, moving to outflank the women coming closer. Whoever had come out was getting ready to hunt. The women had stopped moving, but there was the sound of feet running over a harder surface somewhere, not wood, cement.

The movement grew in volume but there was another element she couldn't place to it, it didn't grow louder because it coming closer, it was surfacing in a direction that didn't denote someone coming from under the house to the floor above, it was underground in the woods. Dual heartbeats broke the surface closer than those of the two women.

Timbres of voice belonging to men, and she tried to focus on what they were saying, if either belonged to Derek Hale's. One did and she strained to hear but the wind and the rattle of trees swaying made it difficult to pick anything up besides a tone and pacing of the words being said.

She'd forgotten about the women until a metallic shift of something being slid against something else caught her attention. It wasn't a gun being loaded or a round being chambered, she knew those sounds, she didn't know the one she was hearing until something groaned as it stretched and gave the high pitch of whining velocity to something else cutting and pushing through air.

Who the hell used arrows anymore she thought pursing her lips angrily as flesh rended and pulled away from the impalement of metal and wood into the meat of muscle. She almost cried out but held in the yell. Derek Hale groaned and cried out commands while he pulled himself across the ground trying to drag and push someone along with him.

Lucette settled against the trunk. Watching and waiting. _It_ told her to watch and wait and she nodded to herself knowing in her bones she was more hunter than hero.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The country song about destroying someone's car is "Before He Cheats." The boy in the sports store is Jackson and the person calling to him is Danny, the Colin he refers to isn't an actual character but just a name I picked for his unnamed date Danny took to the dance who I'm assuming is his boyfriend. And finally some action (even if it is just Lucette getting handsy with herself) please don't make an assumption that the vague imagery she comes up with to get off with somehow ties to Derek, because it doesn't. If it did you wouldn't have to assume you'd know, trust me I'd make it obvious. The Id is the animal drive of the human subconscious, there is also the Superego which is the ideal moral code or value set of a society, and the Ego is the mitigating force between the two. Based on what psychologist you're referring to there is some variation between the exact nature of the ego and superego, I'm talking on Freud's position not Carl Jung's or any other often referenced psychoanalyst, that's just bonus info and has nothing to do with the story really, fun fact for those of you who read author's notes. The conversation about a boat and a house Lucette has with her sister isn't important now but it might be something to remember. Again there's the I Love Lucy reference with Lucy an Ethel between Lucette and Estelle going on over the phone. When Estelle says that she loves numbers she's talking about money in case that wasn't clear. As a side note Estelle lives in Washington so does their father.


	10. The Penitent

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual content

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **Decided to do a Derek centric chapter, I think I'm going to make every fifth chapter like this, so it's just a short little snippet that will be between 2,500-5,000 words. This one takes place between episode ten and episode twelve.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 54:<strong>

He doesn't intend to do any lasting damage all he wants to do is leave a lasting impression. The kid is stupid and it's particularly obligatory to let someone know they're stupid if no one else is letting them in on it. The whole thing has a resonance to it that he can't shake, and he knows now that it comes from the fervent wish that someone had mentioned he was acting like a damn fool when he was sixteen and acting like a damn fool.

And it's as if the whole thing isn't irritating enough so karma or luck or fortune or God has decided he's fucked up enough that he doesn't get the opportunity to make things right or stop them from happening. This is his ass biting and his comeuppance he thinks. It must be because as much as he clues them in with examples to their stupidity and general dumb unsafe behavior they just don't listen, they don't care, they don't give the warning any credence because what would he know?

He's only been a werewolf with twenty-three years.

He's only been the guy with a spot as captain on a sports team, perfectly gelled hair, and an expensive car.

He's only been led around by his dick.

He's only been carrying the weight of well-deserve guilt and grief around like a bad habit for years.

He's only been the lone survivor.

He's only been shot, stabbed, burned, captured, drugged, and beaten on multiple occasions by people with guns and combat training and more grudges than scars and bullets.

And now he's only been able to watch things come full circle by being selfless and stupid and getting himself captured because he really doesn't want to go it alone forever, that's not in his nature. He wants a pack and closure and to get stupid Porsche boy and Scott to find they're damn balls.

And it occurs to him that _this_ is what he has to do for them to find them, offer himself as a sacrificial lamb and besides being unfair, it's just plain getting old at this point in the game, he thinks when his pummeled by too many bullets and too high a voltage from automatic weapons and shock batons.

**Day 55:**

There was a sense of the surreal that came with being in the same room where the majority of his family had been reduced to char and ash. It was unpleasant and uncouth of the older woman but he doubted she was anything else when stripped of her beguilement and seduction.

It reeked of medicinal scents that made his head throb and his stomach turn with nausea when he breathed in deep as he became more alert.

"Awake?"

She sounded spectacularly girlish and it made the streak of cooled saliva she'd left on his abdomen itch, his fingers clenched and unclenched with the unrealized urge to scratch the spot raw. The sensory memory of her breasts pressed against his thighs made him shiver unpleasantly in revulsion.

"You know…," Kate Argent tossed her hair behind the shoulder opposite the one she turned to look at him over, her eyes shining malice and perverse joy.

"You made quite the impression on Ulrich and Uncer, they couldn't get out of here fast enough. It's hard to find hunters who can take a hit these days, you know?"

Her boots clicked as she stepped closer and the cloud covered moonlight played like water through the bars of the hole in the basement wall across her face.

"You would think it's the girls who have a problem with all…," she waved a finely manicured hand and twisted her head to look around the room and take in the equipment, "this, but compared to the men they stick around longer and do a better job."

He ground his teeth loud enough for her to hear as she considered him like road-kill or a sick animal, "But then again you can be so intimidating Derek, maybe I shouldn't be too hard on them." Her bottom lip plumped up into the one above it and creased her chin mimicking the way her shoulders raised in a theatric shrug.

"You should be thankful _I_ got to you first, I mean, yes, you're being tortured and you really don't like me but what's a little electricity and a few cheap shots between old lovers you know."

He flung himself against the chains holding him, the metal fixtures groaned and she let out a single loud exhaled laugh. She pressed her nails into the bulge of muscle above his heart her lips closing to press out a small smirk.

"It's practically foreplay for a big werewolf like you since you heal so fast. But if those bureaucrats caught you they'd put you in a little cell somewhere, _this _at least is still a bit of home sweet home, right?"

The drag of her nails left angry red furrows behind, she ran her finger pads across the line of hair above his belt and between his hips.

"They might dissect you or make you some nice little docile pet. And really I prefer a clean kill when it's time for that, and you wouldn't make a very obedient and loyal companion."

She tapped her nails on his belt buckle and pouted at his lack of male reaction at her proximity. He grinned with venom. She stepped back and flopped heavily into the rolling chair, fondling the buttons on the face of the box ready to deliver the whip crack of electricity across his muscles and nerve endings.

"It's funny but we actually have a few werewolves on our side, hunting their own kind down. The rogues and rabid ones, but they're a touch too mercenary for me. They take the image a little too far, motorcycles and leather pants and ehhh it's too much cliché."

The notion made him sick despite understanding it.

"Chris might have offered you a sweet little place on our side of things but Chris didn't catch you, did he? And I'm not that giving, like you'd say yes anyway," she scowled and made a displeased grunt in her throat. "But really Derek you've gotten so…pathetic, what happened to all…that… _swagger_? Was it the grief or the guilt that did it?"

He narrowed his eyes and let his lips pull away from his teeth in a weak growl.

"This whole torture thing is less fun when you don't growl or yell or scream or try to kill me. Is this boring you?" She made to turn the dial but stopped to let the question sink in. "I, myself am a little underwhelmed."

With a booted foot she slipped her toes under the edge of a cart and brought it closer to her, reaching out when it was close enough to let her hand hover over the instruments in the metal tray resting unused on top of it.

"Do you know what's in this?" She held up a syringe with the plunger pulled back and clear liquid in the barrel. He was much too concerned with its contents to wager a verbal guess.

"No, idea?" She quipped spinning the chair to face him and his stoic silence.

"It's an equine slash bovine sedative." She tilted her head to consider the tray again considering a vial and turning it with her fingers. "And this," she pouted. "Still no idea? This is purified aconite extract dissolved in glucose, why glucose? Because it metabolizes faster. You know what the Wolfsbane does, but it has this neat effect when combined with heavy duty horse tranquilizers."

He didn't want to know and focused his stare on the wall behind her head while she held up vials and syringes like a deranged television phone order home goods channel.

"It's still a little experimental but I borrowed a few samples just for this occasion, wanted to make it special. Do you want to know what it does?"

He pinned her with a furious glare that made her eyes widen.

"No? Alright, you'll see. Sedative first and then the kicker," she drew up a syringe with Wolfsbane. She injected him despite his flailing and he felt his fingers and toes tingle as the sedative spun lazy numbing tendrils up his legs and down his arms, his head lightened and his mouth felt heavy.

"Can you feel it? Nice little euphoria and tingly goodness going on, give it a minute." The prickle of pins started in his shoulders and was like hot grease splashing across his skin. He jerked spastically unable to control his muscles from twitching and jumping.

"Oh! There it goes. It does something to the different types of responses your nervous system experiences, I'm not a doctor so I don't know the nitty gritty but your body wants to change but the messages your brain is sending out aren't as specific as they should be because of the sedative."

She watched him twitch like a toy whose batteries were running low with mild amusement, "It doesn't last long but it does the trick."

Derek felt his mind go soft and runny. It spun through memories of things he never wanted to think over again. Being sixteen again and his mind likening the twitch of his limbs to the way they bounced and shook with every long-legged stride across the tarmac during the spring track season, the overwhelming bass in the bar the night he meet Kate Argent, the flare of transient warmth spiraling down his throat with shot after shot done to show off and try to impress the older woman who he should have noticed stopped after two as he went on to number six and then seven and then eight.

The muted colors and hazy recollection of them in the backseat of her car and the way the black leather felt on the sweaty skin of his back, the press of her throat on his shoulder while her hips bashed a frantic rhythm against his. The way he'd spasmed and floundered and realized exactly how many shots it took for his youthful enthusiasm to come off unsatisfactory.

How she purred it was alright because he was young enough to have the stamina to go again, the way she held the steering wheel as she drove him home and told him to come around to the bar on the weekend. And the realization and fall of pieces into place after the fire and how when he dug his hands into his jacket pockets at the police station standing next to his stony faced sister he found the blinking red light flashing at him on the bug she planted.

The baseball bat striking him brought a halt to the unwanted trip to memory lane. He welcomed it like an old friend and relished the beating.

**Day 56:**

His uncle killed his sister. His uncle killed his sister on purpose. His uncle killed his sister on purpose after luring her into town.

His blood spikes hot and his body breaks out in anxious prickles of gooseflesh from the revelation, his fury clears his mind of how weak his body is and flares like a bursting sun, white hot and spectacular and unrelenting in its destruction of every limit he's ever set for himself and vaporization of every line he's sworn never to cross.

And it feels euphoric in its own warped twisted devious way that without self-made restraints on his _human_ nature he can do anything and enjoy doing it when he's more animal than man. He knows how the night is going to end and he ignores how ignoble of him it is to have no qualms about doing what he wants in place of what he needs to do, but the line between the two things is gone and it no longer matters because there is no difference, what he wants to do _is _what he needs to do. Retribution, vengeance, and revenge are just different slants of the same motivations. Retribution for Scott, vengeance for his family, revenge for his sister. The greater good, the selfless, and the selfish desires he's tried to mediate and meld together without conflict. It no longer matters that he's failed at it before because without the delicate and imaginary restrictions he's put on his most primitive drives and motivations he's claw and fang and animal violence and it's welcoming and secure and enthralling.

It's all instinct and urge until he gets shot. Shot, without flair or anger, just simple and non-emotive by a woman he's considered anything but. It stings because it's efficient and cold and robotic and it hits him that Kate Argent is less insane and more predator than he ever gave her credit for. Her heart doesn't pick up as she does it, her breathing is steady and her pace is measured and even as she points the gun at the sixteen year old kid he's tried his best to get to understand the scope of the issue.

She's as much an animal as he is, as fickle and flicking between the dynamics of the chase and the kill with quick efficiency. Once the fun is over it's over and there are no splitting hairs and trying to coax more from the prey. It chafes, badly. Delirious as his body tries to heal he only vaguely notes the change in events and the way things go on between hunter and werewolf and the niggling sense of something waiting in the dark for the moment to reach critical mass.

Tiny hands curl around his ankles and yank him into the treelike, he flails in surprise with claws and teeth forming fast, they recede when he lifts his head and sees the familiar lines of the nurse's face set harsh and dirt-smudged, scowling behind her as she keeps pulling him.

It's the most surprising turn of events and the only one he hasn't planned for and in truth he'd put the woman from his mind putting her involvement with the larger scope of things to the most minimal of probabilities but nonetheless she's the one pulling him into the cover of the woods and jumping into the fray.

His opinion of girls and woman has always been cemented into finely made out categories of highschool drama-mongers, psychotic bitches, and familial sister-mother-aunt-cousin relations. He knows the types and he knows what they're likely to do and not do. He wonders if it's the fact that she's a nurse that she's dragging him out of the line of fire but he doubts it has anything to do with her actions, this woman runs in modes set for the circumstance occurring and it's something he doesn't have much experience with, he doesn't like not knowing what she's doing and why.

Maybe she gets that if he isn't around she's fucked and it's 'survival and self-preservation by proxy' mode she's in. Maybe it's 'pack mentality' mode. Maybe it's some version of 'basic human decency' mode she's gone into but he doubts that too because she's not the same person she plays at when she's in uniform, there's a divide in her nature and it's made up of things he can only guess at.

The only things he knows about her are the massive scope of pride and viciousness in her. It occurs to him then that the only reason she's dragging him to safety is to prove her own ego is well deserved and justified, it's not about saving him, it's about being able to say she's done it, another notch in her belt of accomplishments that make her bigheaded.

It only serves to make his opinion of her less than stellar.

She drops his feet and looks at him, her forced smile is lopsided and her lets out a heavy breath. "Come on, let's go." When he doesn't move she frowns, "You've got to stay."

"Yes."

He finds the pout formed even before he affirms the state of things fakely childish and annoying.

"Why?"

"My uncle."

The pout transforms into the pulled blanche of someone who's bitten into lemon pulp and it's worse than the pout because it shows him exactly what he does not need to be shown about how dumb the idea to stick around is.

"You on his side or the kid's?" She means Scott and he scowls that she's been hiding in the bushes long enough to watch everything that's happened. He doesn't care much for the unsaid accusation in her voice or the condescending tone of it.

"I'm on _my_ side."

Her dirty face shifts into utter and complete revulsion in response to the statement, and he sees her scoff at the idea. The almost unnoticeable tick of unrestrained emotion tells him everything he needs to know and more, she doesn't believe him, doesn't believe he even knows what side he's on. The look says that she thinks he's a child, "Why did they shoot you?"

"Anti-werewolf agenda."

"Rightfully so?"

"Not towards me or the kid."

"Towards your uncle?"

"Not my problem."

"You're the one who got shot."

"You're the one hiding in the woods."

"You're the one being stupid."

"I'm not running."

"They want to kill you and the kid and your uncle."

"My uncle wants to kill them."

"Who are _you _going to kill?"

"No one who doesn't deserve it."

She is silent and treats the lack of word exchange as if it's expected; maybe it is, to her. He doesn't know, doesn't care, and doesn't want to know.

"You'll bleed out," is her response as she looks over his wounded form with clinical detachedness, her hair raggedly hanging in choppy portions over her face and shoulders and back.

"I can't leave."

"Fine, hold still," she hisses from behind the mop of windblown and stick strewn mess of hair, her hands smell like sap and bark and they force his shoulders back into the dirt he'd tried to rise from, they push again more firmly when his body insists on rising.

"Where did you come from?" He coughs lowly and blood specked spittle hits her knee and discolors the denim as the globs thin and soak through.

"Tree. Hold on. You're all shot through like a freaking buffalo on the great plains."

The knife is poised loosely in one hand while the other tears his shirt up breaking the seal of blood stuck cotton to skin, her nails prick on his ribs and she studies the hole in his chest that pulses with the push of the bullet lodged in muscle budging out bit by bit.

"You brought you're gun?"

"This will hurt," she ignores the question that he hopes brings across his agitation that she'd rather watch the melodrama not yet done instead of shoot someone trying to shoot him. The idea of her not caring enough about the situation weighs down his foggy thoughts and angers him. The anger leaves when he ponders the idea that maybe he hasn't gone over how critical his survival is in relation to her not killing people and getting shot herself with her enough for her to understand.

She prods the hole with the tip of the knife and digs until it wedges under the bullet, her arms move like she's trying to wrestle a bolt loose with a wrench, the tendons in his legs jerk and his knees pull up closer to his chest to try and close the open line of his body that she's performing amateur surgery on, she smacks his knee and he folds them down and digs his heels in, compacting the loose moist earth under them.

It breaks out of his skin with a moist pop and her fingernails scratch down the sides of the bullet, her knuckles dragging along the edges of the torn angry hole in his chest and when they find the bottom she tugs and examines the projectile to make sure it's all in one piece and drops it into her pocket.

"Hurry up," he forces out when she pulls his shirt back down and rips the hole in the leg of his jeans bigger to stab and dig and tear and rip at him with the knife to remove the pieces of shattered arrow head in his thigh.

"Shut up," her eyes flash molten gold and lupine yellow and her breath wafts into his face smelling like pennies and cigarettes. Her knees hold down his leg above and below where she digs through skin and muscle to the bone scraping out shards of metal like an army field medic. There's blood on her breath and he thinks he knows what kind.

He feels it, but in a blunt way, not numb but close enough that he doesn't need to choke down his tongue to hold in a muffled exclamation of profanity and gurgled scream at having someone dig to excavate parts of his body with a pocket knife.

He pushes her away with an arm as she shifts back, finished but still eyeing the gaping skin trying to suck itself closed, "There. Get back in the tree. Stay there."

Her eyes are cold despite the yellow animal color they cast and her teeth are sharp and mean, looking up fast and then back to him with a swing of her neck, closing and then opening her eyes slow and deliberate. She smiles cruel and humorless, "Don't die," she tells him and it takes him until she's gone with a whip of her hair and legs kicking out behind her not a moment later that she has sing-songed the words mockingly as she swings up into the tree without a falling pine cone or waving branch to mark her ascent, her limbs and body obscured by the dark and her scent no more than a memory in the wind, almost intangible once she's gone.

Derek is unsure whether she said it once or twice, and it makes him uneasy. A pine cone hits the ground in the absence of wind and he spares the upper branches of the tree a scathing look and a snort before turning to run after Scott running into the house.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **There we go, figured that since I needed some filler I might as well try and make it more interesting and write it in Derek's perspective instead of making it part of a longer chapter. I imagine Derek being a lot like Jackson when he was sixteen. Obviously he can never be that person again because of the things that have changed in him and in his life but it's an interesting thing that a lot of us on the forums for the Teen Wolf fandom have been talking about. Also I wanted to have readers know what Derek thinks of Lucette. In simple terms he's realizing that maybe it wasn't the best idea to leave her to her own devices the majority of the time because she's been figuring out the werewolf thing on her own and might not be going about it in the way Scott is going about it. That's just a little subplot note that maybe people may miss when reading this, what it boils down to is Derek trying to balance Scott, Peter, the Hunters, Jackson and his melodrama, Lydia's attack and kinda/sorta/maybe gonna be a werewolf situation, and Lucette. Lucette is at the bottom of the list because she's older and more independent and unconnected to the other characters but that might not be the best course of action and Derek is just noticing a hint of a problem with his prioritization skills.


	11. The Parthian

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual content

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **Here we go a chapter happening after the finale and while up until this point the story ran with canon depending on what happens in season two it may not, we'll see. This story will probably be finished before the next season starts. As far as what happens to Jackson and Lydia and who Chris Argent and his wife were talking about coming to town in the finale I'll try to mediate some things into the storyline but I may not even touch upon them, it depends. I've tried not to rehash the whole alpha show-down scene because we've all seen it, for clarity though Lucette is hiding in a tree and the big gaping hole of plot of what happens after the show-down is filled, sort of.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 56:<strong>

The stand-off ended spectacularly and she let her thoughts roam and reach out like tendrils, snatching at fragments of information and patching snippets of conversations together, sink holes of incomplete motives and machinations filled and leveled out to connect to other things.

The other werewolf and their identity, the network of ordinary people connected to him, the werewolf hunters, unexplained melodrama between the two factions, the girl who took after robin hood and the man with the magnum, Peter Hale as the big bad and how the other werewolf chased the girl into the house, the pyrotechnic display of laboratory chemicals brought on by boys in tuxedo jackets and button downs.

It was there in the way the younger werewolf yelled at Derek Hale and the way one of the ordinary boys restrained him from lunging at the older werewolf, the desperate anger and futility in his rage, she could relate. It was there in the way the girl's father shoved her in the direction of the red sport's vehicle and sent her speeding away with a few paternal commands that broached no opening for discussion. It was there in the way the lone boy leaned against the silver luxury vehicle and numbly followed the command of the other to help the younger werewolf into the car driving off on the dirt road without another word between them. It was there in the way Derek Hale spoke with the man remaining behind in a muted, but not so low she couldn't hear it, conversation beginning and ending warily. It was there in every shift of stance and every sound and every unspoken word and she knew that there was more to what was taking place than she was aware of, things she wanted to know despite not needing to.

Things Derek Hale hadn't and wasn't and wouldn't tell her. It rankled her. The metal door behind her slid open with a bang and a rattle of the wheels on the ceiling track.

"Why are you here?" He sounded particularly volatile that she had snuck down from the tree and had found her way underground in the makeshift laboratory of horrors she likened the small cement room to. "…you howled Master Hale," she deadpanned without turning from her inspection of the electric battery and coils rigged to leads meant to stick to skin.

"You answer every howl you hear?"

She frowned at the edge in his tone but waved it off with the rationalization that he was angry and tired and running on empty, she sympathized. "I knew the second one was you and you haven't been around lately, figured that since it sounded like you were dying maybe you were."

"Did anyone see you?"

"No. I was a shadow in the night."

"Good."

He offered no explanation to the conversation between him and the man that had stopped the gun toting crazed woman from shooting the younger werewolf. She understood enough of why to not have it bother her, the world would take as kindly to werewolf hunters as it would to werewolves. Mutual survival and prosperity as long as no one was stupid and killed someone. Threats and thin compromise seemed to be the nature of Derek Hale's and the older man's sentiments.

Lucette turned only to find his back instead of his face greeting her, he took steps towards the door and she wondered suddenly as to where exactly he thought to go.

"Where are you going?"

"…" Derek Hale merely stopped moving for a moment and then walked out the door as if her question had no merit, it irked her and she caught him by the elbow with a sharp tug which earned her an even sharper glare tossed over his shoulder.

"Hey!"

"…" He turned his face away and tugged his arm free starting his stride down the long cement tunnel. Grabbing again and digging her fingers in she turned him and it surprised her that he let her do that much, "What's wrong with you?"

Watching his hands curl into tight fists she put steel into her posture and made herself ready to dodge a hit, nothing came but it did nothing to make her relax and release the tension in her muscles.

"Wolfsbane."

The word meant nothing to her, "Wolfsbane?" She watched him take a breath and his fingers loosen from their clench, "It makes transforming harder to temper."

His eyes flashed red for a moment and in the sodium yellow light of the tunnel it looked like embers dying in a fireplace grate.

"You can't shift now," she informed him taking a small step back and crossing her arms while cocking a hip and examining his nails grow and retract.

"I know that!" It was a snarl from his chest and it sounded wrong through a mouth full of sharp teeth and a misshapen jaw. "Calm down, jeez," she huffed and spun her body sideways and swept her arms in a gesture of accommodation. He got the hint and entered the concrete room again.

There was a stony silence built up between them as he sat down in the chair she kicked over to him and she contemplated the situation and what exactly to do, what she _could_ do, "You were injected with it?"

"And a sedative," he nodded and tightened his grip on his knees with his fingers.

"Well you're not very sedated," it wasn't a joke but it sounded like one despite the lack of a laugh she would have made if she'd meant it that way, she flippantly shrugged off the glare he gave her, "It wore off in the opposite way."

"What else did they give you?"

"Nothing."

Lucette regarded him with a scowl and a leveled look of impatience, "You can't give a powder by injection. Wolfsbane is a plant; it has to be in something."

"Glucose."

"Oh."

She thought of the implication and took a breath that she let out behind clenched teeth; already looking around the room for materials that she knew weren't there.

"Is there anything you can do?" His tone ragged and forced made her turn away from the table of medical instruments and actually look at him, she didn't like the hunched shoulders or the labored breathing or the way he'd visibly paled in the overexposed glare of harsh lightening.

"I could flush it out with a saline IV but there's nothing here to do it with," she picked through vials set up like soldiers in neat little lines on the table-top. "Epinephrine would make it worse, Benedryl is to lessen an adverse reaction, what the fuck did they _do_?"

Meaning it as a question she grimaced at how he didn't answer but took a breath as if having to force it into his body. She turned the vials to read the labels and found a veritable pharmacy contained in the spread.

"Cardiac meds and diuretics for heart failure, steroids for inflammation. Seriously?" A plastic bag of vials packed sloppily caught her attention, she held it out to him without turning from the table, "Here. Look through that for…," she tugged the bag back when she came across a black leather zip case for syringes. "Never mind. Did they rob a pharmacy?"

She pulled the zipper and smiled at the contents and the fifty milligram vial enclosed with the needles. She drew one up and faced him.

"What is that?"

His eyes were unfocused and he coughed his lips wet and red after his chest stopped shaking and it made her stomach bottom out.

"Rapid acting insulin."

"…," he gave her a look that made her stare back in confusion until she realized the cause of it remembering the last time she'd brandished a syringe in his presence.

"Seriously, this time I really am going to stab you with an insulin syringe."

"Hilarious," he exclaimed without any real humor as she reached to help him shrug out of his jacket, it fell useless and limp onto the floor. She informed him of what to expect as she made him lean back and crouched close to his knees, "It's going to make everything run through you faster, insulin breaks down glucose for energy so just control yourself through the worst of it."

"Worst of what?"

Pulling the cap off with her teeth she pulled at the bottom of his shirt and he jumped when she grabbed at his abdomen with thumb and forefinger to have a spot to inject. Mumbling a half-hearted and preoccupied apology she pulled her hand back and prepared to stab.

"It might make you wolf out, since that's what it's doing to you now. It's just going to hit you like a truck for about five minutes."

His hand rubbed the bones in her wrist together and she let out a pained squeak of surprise and a harsh grunt when he shoved her back unto her butt, her tail bone bouncing against the cement and sending sharp stabs of pain through her lower spine and the backs of her thighs.

"No," he breathed.

"_No_?" She hissed sliding a hand to rub at the bottom of her spine, angry at the throbbing lash still spiking out down her legs.

"Don't inject me."

"I have to otherwise…"

"No, you're not doing it," he stood and she jumped up and pushed on his shoulders, "I am, sit down."

"You _can't_," he put a hand on her clavicle and shoved, she stumbled back a step but held out a hand to tell him to stay put, he remained barely seated but stopped moving.

"Why? So you'll wolf out, big deal. I can handle myself for five minutes."

"You can't handle yourself for five minutes," reaching for his jacket he pulled on one sleeve and started to rise.

"Dude, just sit the fuck down."

Pinning her with a look of agitation and leashed violence he made his tone as sharp as possible, "If you couldn't go five minutes when I was a beta I'd slaughter you now that I'm an alpha. You try to inject me and I'll break your arm."

"Listen to me, if it stays in your system for the next few hours it could _kill_ you."

"I'll be fine."

She blocked the door as he started to walk towards it and with a breath tried to spit out every reason she could think of as to why it would not be beneficial to leave and start walking around.

"Your heart is throwing off beats that shouldn't be there because you've been shocked multiple times with over ten thousand volts, you've probably already_ had_ a heart attack and your heart muscle is necrosing, now you're body is trying to heal that and the damage from the arrows and being shot and trying to filter out the sedative and the werewolf version of catnip from your body," when she advanced a step he took one back and looked at the door, she knew instinctively he would rush her and prepared for it, "When's the last time you've slept? Eaten? You need symptom management so your body can deal with the damage better; right now it has no idea what to do first," Lucette took another step, "So I'm injecting you, let me."

He flung out an arm to swing her out of his way, "No."

She grabbed at his wrist as she spun to the side and turned him, when he made to hit her she ducked under his arm and dropped her knee into the cold, hard floor feeling the impact all the way into her shoulder, he slumped with the added weight as she wrapped an arm around his midsection and she lifted his arm with her head and shoulder, the leather of his jacket falling over her face and sweat soaked, blood caked shirt wrinkling up in ridges on her cheek and against her nose.

The all too unwashed male scent of him was enough to make her gag and want to command him into a river to bathe, he struggled hard and she pinched with clawed fingers the tendons on the inside of his thigh, the sound was half gurgle and half pained whine. There was sour sweat dampening her temple from underneath his arm and she stifled a gag of disgust trying to grab at the arm smacking her underneath the fold of the jacket effectively trapping her against the line of his side.

She pressed a knee in his shin and heard him stumble into a table, a sneakered foot came down on her hip and she tore lines across the flesh of his back with her nails trying to anchor him into the table edge. An elbow hit her eye socket and she punched him in the anatomical location of where his kidneys would be located.

He snarled and tore at her hair while she slid her hand into the sleeve of his jacket; she pinched at the back of his arm and held the mound of flesh as she worked the syringe into position.

A second after she depressed the plunger she was sliding across the floor and overturning a chair with her body, "Too late," she proclaimed smugly sitting up and shaking her hair out of her face to find him gaping at his arm and then at her.

"Run, get in a tree. Shoot me if I start climbing," anger was deep garnet eyes glaring in her direction and the rip of leather in a room that was suddenly too small and Derek Hale turning into something only barely recognizable as human. He didn't need to tell her twice.

She ran and got a ten second head start out of it before he followed with a howl that made her skin prickle and her blood spike hot, she shook off an involuntary shiver and ripped through low branches and tore over fallen logs like it was an Olympic sport. A wayward thought stuck and she found herself breathing to a rhythm that matched a mental chant of _U-S-A U-S-A U-S-A _she almost snickered but another howl made her scramble faster through the woods.

Five minutes she reminded herself, she could sprint for five minutes. She could do anything for five minutes, so long as the alternative was something rending her limbs from her body.

He was too close behind for her to climb a tree, she scooped up a rock and turned, running backwards and rolling a large branch under the sole of her shoe as she threw back her arm and launched it into his snout, the meaty smack was more soothing than the vehement howl and snarl ripping from his throat.

The rock snapped his head to the side and made him stagger but not enough to not keep coming after her. She came to a decline in the path and rang along the ridge of it trying to decide if she could run down the rock strewn slope and not trip and end up in an unconscious roll.

The rebound of his body off a tree in her direction made the decision for her when she weaved and found no surface under her right foot for a long moment and then slammed into the uneven slope, she tripped and ran down the steepness of the decline to high to be called a hill, and there were moments when she felt like she was more jumping and falling fast for a few second than actually running.

There were no sounds of pursuit behind her and it took no longer than a quick glance back for her to figure it may have been better to not look over her shoulder and lapse in concentration because her toes caught the ground instead of her soles and the tops of her feet rolled into the ground followed by shins and knees and then the extent of how long the way down the slope was hit her like the large rock buried halfway in the ground hit her temple.

She hoped she had made it past the five minute mark.

The blissful velvet dark of unconsciousness made the prospect of being dismembered and eaten less horrifying.

When she swam back to awareness and forced her eyes sealed shut with crusted blood to open as far as they could, she found that she was still capable of moving all fingers and toes and that despite being brained by a rock her skull was intact.

Small mercies she sighed mentally before the clangor and brilliant flaring of pain arrived and enclosed her skull. She winced and clenched her teeth wanting to vomit and cry as she forgot how to breathe for a moment and the pain ebbed away, her body healing the hairline fracture of her skull into nothing but smooth bone.

"You here?" She questioned the sprawl of forest around her hoping nothing growled back at her in response.

"Mmm," she sighed in relief until remembering he'd been trying to kill her however long ago it was that she'd fallen down the slope and that the sound of assent could have been a variation on a growl.

"You human?"

"Obviously."

She let out the breath she'd been holding and turned her head in the direction his voice was coming from but found nothing.

"My head hurts."

"You hit it on a rock," she was looking in the right direction but he was in the dark somewhere.

"You don't seem too concerned caregiver over there. Shouldn't you be patching me up, licking my gruesome head wound, something?"

"I'm naked."

She was glad he wasn't licking her head wound while nude.

"Why are you naked?"

It seemed preposterous for him to be naked.

"They don't make jeans in alpha werewolf size."

"Oh. Are you _okay_ now?"

"I'm fine."

He sounded better, not fine, but better.

"Now what?"

"I'm going back to my house."

"Okay. Who's here besides you?"

There was a heartbeat not belonging to them nearby.

"A hunter."

"His heartbeat is slow," she wondered if he was dead.

"Sedative."

"You went back and got a syringe to inject him with?"

"It was in his pocket."

They lapsed into silence.

"What if the police are at your house by now?"

"…"

"Can you make it to my house or should I go get my truck?"

"Faster to go now."

He came out of the woods and she stopped his progression with a raised hand, shrugging out of her zip-up sweatshirt before he came close enough for the darkness of the forest to not be dark enough to hide things like Derek Hale's dick. She tossed it in his direction.

"Here. Put that on. There are mosquitoes and ticks and…"

"You're sweater is going to ward them off?"

She sat up and imagined the incredulous expression he was no doubt facing her with.

He came closer and seemed unaware of how strange it was to have a conversation in the middle of the woods while naked. It seemed as if he was used to it, she however fixed her stare on a tree in front of her as her held up the thrown item of clothing in his hand instead of in front of him.

"If you want to go swinging dick in through the woods be my guest but I'd rather not watch you scratch your balls every five seconds when they get chewed up by bugs."

"I've got clothes in my trunk."

Her heartbeat rose at the mention of his car, she'd forgotten about it, "…"

"…my car. It's in your garage."

"Yep, it is."

He inhaled sharply and she knew there was no way he missed the guilty rise in her pulse.

"What did you do to my car?"

"Retribution for my tires."

"Specifically?"

"So you're paintjob ain't pretty, but compared to the bullet holes it's no big deal."

"What else?"

Closing her eyes and setting her lips into a thin line she turned her head away and cringed at what his reaction would be to her driving his car.

"What else do you think?"

"…"

Anger. She knew it was there. She didn't have to open her eyes and turn to look up at him to know it.

"It was in my garage, it's a Camaro, you left the key. Really? Honestly? What did you think I was going to do when I found it?"

The crunch of leaves under bare feet and the overwhelming stagnation of the air and the scent of sweat and dirt and blood made her look and find him crouched at her side.

"…If you touch my car again...I'll break every single one of your fingers. Understand?" His palm connected with her cheek and she dropped her mouth open in shock that he had just smacked her in the face. "Mosquito."

He held up his hand with the smushed insect evidence, she picked at the plumping bite on her cheek. She turned her head as he stood and dropped the jacket she had offered at his feet, she reached into the pocket where her cigarettes had been and hoped they hadn't been crushed and split open.

The spark and flame of the lighter made certain anatomical things on his body enter her peripheral vision more clearly; she suppressed a shudder when he scowled down at her when she made a new flame in the lighter after already lighting her cigarette and stared.

"Tick. Want me to take of that?"

She pointed and was immensely pleased to find him swat at himself for ticks and bugs that weren't there. She watched with clinical detachment, no stranger to nudity in general but most definitely to the sort of nudity belonging to guys younger than seventy.

"Do you mind?" He chastised. She looked up.

"What?"

"Stop staring at my dick."

She realized the lighter was still lit and took her thumb off the button keeping it lit.

"Quit bobbing it around at eye level then," she countered.

"You're a child."

She threw her jacket at his head as she stood up, "Says the naked man."

He tied the arms of the jacket at his hip and effectively covered himself, "Better?"

"Much."

She started walking. He pointed in the direction of her house. She made no comment about how she knew where she lived already.

"I wouldn't think a nurse would have a problem with naked people."

"I get paid to look at genitalia while I'm _working_ not in my off hours."

"So you're only comfortable around naked people when you're getting paid?"

"Don't even finish that line of thought."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll shoot you."

"Uh-huh."

"In the dick."

"Tree branch."

She sputtered with a mouthful of crisp leaves and pine needles as she ran into the low branch.

**Day 57:**

The clock on her cable box informed her of the early morning hour, ungodly and dark and dismal was all four in the morning could be described as in her current state of adrenaline, black coffee, nicotine sleepless haze of whirring thoughts.

She was going to crash later once her mind settled down and the headache and uncomfortable stickiness of too little sleep and too much sweating chills of rest withdrawal hit. She'd sleep later, she needed to think. She needed to plan and formulate plots.

It seemed a touch nefarious to think of herself as someone who plotted and schemed. But she was and at four in the morning it seemed the right sort of thing to do, balanced evils. She likened herself to a mad scientist for a moment before realizing she was going too far into her thoughts and getting off track.

Derek Hale remained oblivious and asleep as she sat and pondered the events of the night gone by. It seemed right. The idea had no reason behind it but it made sense in her sleepless musings that he should be resting and she should be high-strung and neurotic at the early hour.

The excitement of having stayed awake long enough to plan made her jittery and in need of someone to share her enthusiasm with, she climbed the stairs and opened the door to the spare bedroom.

"Hey, wake-up."

"…"

He rolled over away from the pillar of light the open door cast across the bed his shoulder bunching in lines and divides of muscle that she spared a glance only because he was male and the tattoo was a visual landmark that drew her eyes to its location.

"You're still wanted by the law, right?"

"You're waking me up for that?" He mumbled to the pillow under his head.

"Okay, that's a yes. How would you like to _not_ be wanted by the law?"

"Whatever it is, it's not going to work. Let me sleep."

She threw the decorative bed pillow on the floor at his unenthusiastic head; he stirred enough to roll onto his back and perch up unto his elbows to look at her.

"No, if you listen then do what I say it _will_ work, I just have to fill in a few blanks so get up. We need to talk."

"…"

She took his silence as invitation to continue and settled on a spot on the floor at the side of the bed, she leaned an elbow on the mattress and blinked away a twitch in her eye. She was too lazy to raise her head and settled for staring at the line the bottom of his pectorals made on his chest and the barest hint of male abdominals playing over the edge of the sheet.

"That woman set your house on fire, right. With everyone else who's been dying around here lately?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone who isn't dead that was involved."

"Yes."

"Okay. How many people?"

"Two more."

" And the woman's brother, what does he do?"

"Raises dogs and sells guns."

"And she and the other two, no, three guys are all tied to him?"

"Yes."

"And one of those kids who were there tonight told the police that it was you chasing them at the highschool."

"Yes."

"Who killed Jennifer?"

He looked away, "It was an accident."

She ignored the way he didn't look at her and picked at the edge of the sheet hanging off the bed, "Who stole her body and her car?"

"Peter."

"Who the police still think is comatose."

He looked at her and flopped down onto the mattress, his head hitting the feather-down pillow with a muted pummeling sound.

"Your point?"

"That woman," she started.

"Kate Argent," he finished supplying the name.

"Kate Argent and the three guys are connected to burning down that house and your sister came to town to try and Scooby solve the mystery, they find out that she was sniffing around and kill her, and then they start killing everyone else that was connected. The two guys that weren't there tonight ran off because things started to get weird with Kate and the bald guy…,"

"Marcus."

"Kate and the bald guy, Marcus, okay. So then Kate gets to Jennifer, doesn't matter how, blackmail, extortion whatever who cares, Jennifer lets Kate in the nursing home and Kate or Jennifer kills everyone and Kate kidnaps your uncle, then Kate kills Jennifer and later steals her body…,"

He cut in.

"Why would the police think that she stole the body?"

"Because it's the only one that doesn't fit the pattern of the animal attacks, don't interrupt, just listen, full circle in about five minutes if I can finish this," she punched the bed to make it clear she didn't like his interruptions.

"..."

"So she steals the body and the car and your uncle, brings him down here to get you down here and all of that. Then the animal attack on the highschool girl happens as a way to throw the police off track. Now the family raises dogs right, the police are going to interview that guy because it's his sister that's dead in that living room, you go and make sure he knows to tell the police that as a gift or whatever he gave a dog to one of the three guys as a gift for Christmas or whatever one year."

"I'm doing this?"

"Yes, you are."

"…"

"And then we have to make it look like you were utterly incapable of committing these crimes and that it was an attack dog attacking and killing people and later the crazy woman in your living room because there was a break-down of the partnership between her and one of the three guys, doesn't matter which one, maybe baseball bat would be the easiest."

"How does that work?"

"You'll fit in that burlap sack, I'll tie you up, put you in the bag and beat you with the bat enough so there's physical evidence and then to keep up with the attack dog image I'll tear the shit out of the bag from the outside and leave you in the woods somewhere where you'll be found quick. You can control your healing right?"

"Yes."

"Okay and then when they interview you at the hospital you'll tell a very moving and horrific story about how you were tortured and left in the woods to be mauled to death by an attack dog for sport and blah blah blah. Oh and you have no idea what happened to your uncle, ask about him, cry or look grief stricken and shut-down when they tell you he's dead. And then say 'that bitch,' or something like that when they tell you he was burned to death."

"…"

"It will work; the Sheriff already has second thoughts about you as a suspect."

"And how would you know?"

"Because he was here the other day dropping off my gun carry papers and we had coffee and I planted some seeds."

"…"

"I'm not an idiot, dumbass. The other day was setting the stage now everything is prepped for the show, you just have to sell it and they'll eat it up."

"What makes you think it will work?"

His head rolled on the pillow and he stared at her face sleepily.

"Imagine that in the police station there's this giant board with everyone's picture on it and they're all arranged in categories of victim, and suspect, and then the stuff that doesn't fit. All the inner connections that can be made with the information they have are made already, but if you add some more information and 'facts' to the mix then other connections can be made. It's like a decorating a room with furniture, not everything is going to fit in the space left over by the other pieces, the police have to fit every piece of information together that's concrete before they can close a case," she paused and sucked in a breath because she was talking and not breathing for too long to be healthy.

"Occam's razor, horses not zebras, attack dogs owned by person who breeds and raises attack dogs being commanded to attack people in order to bury an old arson case by killing everyone tied to it, not _werewolf _hunter gone rogue still trying to kill werewolf that got away years ago that is trying to protect new werewolf who was created by comatose werewolf uncle whose brain healed and is now a killing machine. People are simple, they do simple things, pattern and design appeal and a dash of what's illogical is logical when it's people doing things. At the very least, you won't be a suspect anymore and at the most the whole case is solved and the animal attacks end, unless you choke and start talking about werewolves."

"…"

He stared at her and she waited for the idea to set in enough in his sleep addled brain to gather his thoughts on the whole thing. Impatience set in, "Are you going to get in the bag or not?"

"Where in the woods are you putting me?"

"Park ground, jogging trail."

"When did you come up with this?"

"Over the past hour, hour and a half, I guess. I mean, really if you're going to hang out here then I'd prefer it if you weren't a fugitive, you know?"

"You in the habit of hiding fugitives?"

She floundered until she realized he was joking.

"Nope, just stretching the truth, acting oblivious, lying to authority figures. That sort of thing."

"Because you're schizoid," his lips twitched in the oddest of ways that made her think that if he were the type to smirk then that's what it was, but he was half-asleep so the half-smirk wasn't really something that counted.

"That's all you remember from that conversation?"

Lucette lay her head on her arm and closed her eyes tired and satisfied that she'd gotten her thoughts out of her head.

"No."

"I don't remember half of the things I say in conversations, not specifically, because they're still in my brain. It's like rewriting by hand something you've typed on a computer. The fact that I don't remember how I insult you or if I do shows how little it meant when I said it in the first place, understand?"

She did, but only because she was so tired. She could understand that she was telling him because she was tired but it didn't matter. She was half-asleep and ready to pass out on the floor.

"Do I have to get in the bag now or can I go back to sleep?" He however was waking up with every moment she stuck around to keep him from going back to sleep.

The uneven parallel was making her edgy.

"Go to fucking sleep. I'll wake you up later," she dragged herself up off the floor and went to leave.

"Shut the door," he commanded rolling over onto his stomach and tangling the sheets around him.

"How much you got left in you to not die from severe injury?" She questioned leaning against the door frame eyeing the line of his spine and the swell of man butt covered by thin sheet, she needed sleep.

"Why?"

"Because the police know you have an abdominal wound, go to sleep I've got to think up something suitable for that."

"Whatever," he lifted an arm in a motion that she took as a gesture to get the fuck out.

"You got money?"

"My accounts are frozen."

"Make them unfreeze them, check into a hotel, when no one's watching you anymore come back here. You'll have to check out of the hospital against medical advice. Ask a nurse in front of the Sheriff if you can have the number for a place that does private patients."

"Why?"

"Because the Sheriff will call me and ask if I want a job."

"He won't call you."

"Wanna bet? Containment of the situation, I'm already inadvertently involved, plus I mentioned that you didn't really seem like a killer so he knows I'd be more open to the idea of caring for someone who was up until recently considered a crazy killer so there you go."

"Close the fucking door and go downstairs."

"You mean close_ my_ fucking door and go downstairs in _my_ house?"

"…"

"I know I'm brilliant and wonderful and incredibly smart don't choke on the compliments just go to sleep," she shut the door and tripped going down the stairs, catching herself roughly and scaring her dog. She stumbled up and undressed on the way to her bedroom, kicking the door shut and climbing in between cold sheets and the oblivion of dreamless sleep.

**Day 58: **

They had each gotten up and eaten sporadically and made their way back to bed multiple times by the time the early morning after the morning after of the big showdown as she called it in her own thoughts rolled around, she'd asked about why she was so goddamn tired and with a shrug and a remark about healing and the energy it took he said little else in the way of conversation.

She was happy at least that he had put pants on, she however remained unenthusiastic about the prospect of having to get dressed further than her blood encrusted and dirt smeared thermal and underwear, and it was only after the third comment on her choice of panties that she scowled and threw on the jeans she'd worn into the woods.

To her there was nothing wrong with the birthday gifted underwear that displayed a cartoon nurse in a reprehensible uniform with a catchy phrase written across the back of them. She was eating waffles over the kitchen sink due to a lack of clean plates when he came in searching for coffee.

"Ever hear of utensils?" He asked with a sneer. She refrained from answering with something snarky around a mouthful of chewed breakfast much more content to watch the crawl of syrup down her hand and around the bite marks in the two slabs of toaster baked treats.

"Sorry didn't know you wanted breakfast, alpha don't eat first in this house bitch," she replied after a thick swallow. He snorted once, quietly and she hunched over the sink in an effort to keep him from her food despite him having made no move to take it, it was instinctual.

She turned her head to look at him through the fall of her hair and found him watching her eat, it was not comforting. "Quit staring."

"Quit chewing with your mouth open."

She opened her mouth and shoved mashed waffle forward with her tongue in an infantile gesture. He walked forward and snatched at her food, he grabbed one before it fell in the sink and finished it in three bites while she gaped in stark surprise at the lone waffle floating in the dirty dishwater.

He seemed entirely too smug as he sucked at a spot of syrup on his forearm. She reached in the sink and pulled out the soggy half-eaten waffle and flung it at him, he smacked it back and it hit her in the throat before collapsing wetly on the floor at her feet.

She cleaned it up with a scowl as he sat regarded the coffee maker with confusion and started to pull out drawers looking for a filter and grounds.

"I'll do it," she snapped pawing at strands of hair sticking to her sticky syrup mouth.

"You've got syrup on your face."

"I know."

"Do you know how to eat without wearing your food?"

"Do you know how to have a conversation without making someone want to stab you?" She countered as he turned and sat down at the table.

She made coffee and caught him staring at the remnants of the back door she'd broken propped up next to the fridge and the new one she'd put in, "What did you start that whole thing for? _That's _bipolarism. You know."

"What "whole thing'?" He sounded like he knew but she didn't look back to see if he looked like he did too.

"Unspecific thing: knocking me out all the time. Specific thing: the whole thing where you broke my back door and disappeared for like a week and killed your uncle and then everything else."

She spooned in coffee grounds and pushed the tray back into the coffee maker hitting the switch to brew and turning to lean against the counter.

"That was awhile ago. I was angry."

"Well next time I'm kicking you in the balls. It wasn't long enough ago to not be gone from my short-term memory."

"Noted."

Steam rolled out of the top of the coffee maker and it gurgled as it sucked up water.

"You're really nuts."

"I'm not."

"_You_ hit _me_."

"I know I hit you. Are you looking for an apology?" He looked at her with a dare to ask for one plain on his face.

"You meant to hit me, don't apologize for things you _mean_ to do. You're not sorry so apologizing is a really dumb thing to do."

"So you don't want me to apologize?"

"No, I want you to not hit me and leave me outside on the porch so it can rain on me," she scowled and turned to watch the coffee drip down before adding a muttered, "Asshole."

"I was angry, don't make me angry enough to hit you and I won't hit you."

"You said that."

"…," she could hear him light a cigarette in his silence.

"I made you angry enough to hit me. I don't toe the line; one punch…_two_ punches is not going to get me to _not _do it again," she grabbed a mug and placed it next to the coffee maker before sitting down across the table from him, "So what made you so angry?"

"You did," he exhaled a plume of smoke and took a drag.

Lucette threw her feet and legs onto the table and leaned the top of the chair against the wall, closing her eyes and crossing her arms, "Keep your angry switch secret to yourself then."

"I hit you because you were being annoying," he insisted.

"You don't just hit me because I'm annoying. I'll figure it out when it happens again, probably," she shrugged and turned her face towards the breeze coming from the open window next to the table.

"…"

His lack of comment made her eyes snap open and her feet fall off the table as she thought of what else she had to yell at him for, deciding to get everything settled at the same time. She leaned forward and pointed a dirty fingernail at him, "And stop breaking things, what are you He Man? I really meant it when I said I'd find out where you live and break _your _things if you didn't quit it."

"That."

"That?" She looked at him confused and not quite getting what he meant.

"Yeah, that."

Thoughts clicked, "_That_ made you angry enough to hit me last time?"

"Not the breaking my things line, that's not what you said."

"Crap, what_ did_ I say?" She sat back all loose limbs and little grace pondering her exact words during their last argument.

"That you burn it down."

"Yeah, okay. Way to be dramatic."

"…"

She rolled her eyes.

"Someone burn down your house already?"

"Yeah."

There was awkward and weighty silence as she considered his face, it gave nothing away and broached no emotion before she realized what his house looked like. "…oh. That house in the woods is _your_ house too."

"Yeah, _oh_."

"So where do you _live_?"

"In _my_ burnt down house."

"Why did they burn it down in the first place?"

He visibly tensed and tapped out ashes looking for an answer, "Because they wanted to," was the gruff reply he returned. She blew a raspberry and his eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped angrily. "Buy a new fucking house; don't go around hitting people over it. It's just a house."

"It wasn't just the house they burnt down."

She wasn't one for melodrama so early in the morning, "Jeez, so it's you're ruined childhood they burnt down with it, don't hit_ me_ over that."

He snapped and pointed his cigarette at her, "No, it was the rest of my family they _burned_ to death in my house."

"…"

"…"

She considered him and he sat back in his chair glaring, his jaw tight and hard and his lips blanching from the tight line he'd forced them into, "That blows."

"Yeah," he turned his head to look out the window.

"Not to sound casual about it."

"I get it."

He got up to pour his coffee, it wasn't until he was at the fridge scrounging for milk that she spoke again, "The dead woman, Kate, and those guys. That makes more sense than just them burning down the house sparking this whole thing, they killed people."

"Yeah."

"And your uncle killed them."

"Yeah."

"Why'd you kill him then?"

"What?" He capped the milk and turned to look at her the jug still in his loose grip.

"Did you not want him to kill them?"

"No."

The fridge door blocked her view of him, "So then did you want to kill them instead of him doing it?"

"Killing them wasn't a priority," he explained standing at the counter staring at his coffee.

"So why'd you kill your uncle?"

"…"

He didn't answer.

"…"

She waited.

And waited.

Until the obligatory waiting period ended, "Was it just something you did because you were angry?"

"No."

"Then you have a reason."

"He killed my sister."

"That doesn't take ten minutes to think of as a reason," she tried with a tone meant to provoke an answer from him.

"What do you want me to say?" He turned sharply and looked at her. "That I killed him because I had to, because I was angry, because he was a threat, or because I wanted to?" He stared at her like he was waiting for her to nod at one of the proffered choices.

"It's not about the reason in itself; it's about _why_ you chose that reason. Why did you _want _to kill him?"

"Does it matter?"

He picked up his coffee and took a sip and then a final drag off his cigarette before tossing it into the sink, it sizzled and sputtered weakly.

"Depends," she shrugged.

"On what? Your cooperation, whether you think I'm good or bad or evil?"

She shrugged and looked out the window, studying a broken branch hanging haphazardly from a crosshatch of other branches above her backyard.

"Does any of that matter, really? Does it change anything?" He pressed coming back to stand near the table, she looked up at him. "Depends."

"On what? Are you just going to talk in circles all day?" He slammed his mug down on the table and sloshed liquid out onto the placemat in front of her. She looked at the tan puddle of over-milked coffee and then up at him again.

"Are you going to answer_ the_ question or feed me rhetorical ones of your own?"

"_Depends_. What do you think?"

"What I think is only based on what I know; I can't jump to my conclusion devoid of information."

"You wouldn't get it," he responded dragging his mug off the table and going to stand at the counter again, she turned and placed an arm over the top of her chair, swinging her legs out from under the table and crossing them in front of her.

"Why you killed him?" She tilted her head and watched him scowl.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you don't know what it's like to be part of a pack, it's something you're in from birth or you grow into. You weren't born like this and you're not going to grow into someone who's meant to be part of a pack."

"So you killed him because he was weak," she looked out the window of the back door and waved a hand flippantly.

"He wasn't weak, he was an alpha."

"That doesn't mean he was a good one, right?" She turned back to look at him. "That's part of what I'm not going to get. That whole pack mentality, where an alpha who can't hold a pack together needs to be done away with or whatever," she waved her hand again and his eyes followed the movement contemptuously.

"…"

"You know why you killed him."

"…"

"You just don't want to say it because you think I'm too stupid to grasp the concept."

She was suddenly too irritated to remain casual.

"…"

"You think _you_ can make a pack and hold it together and that he couldn't, so you killed him," she pointed at him with a stiff finger and a lowered brow, looking at him warily.

"It's not so simple."

"What makes it complicated, that he also killed your sister or that you killed him more to be alpha than for anything else?"

"For you it's simple."

"What is?"

"Everything."

"…"

"Being bitten and changing hasn't made you less human. It's just another thing for you and you deal with it as something completely separate, it's just another role."

"…"

"For people like me that were born into it there's nothing that feels faker than going around and trying to act like a _person_, we're not. You still think you're a person instead of something else. It's not a sometimes thing, you're _always _something else, you're always a werewolf. That's why you can't get it."

She got up and stood at the door, looking out at the porch and popping a hip out while she crossed her arms, "Not everybody in the world needs other people around or a pack. Some people are better off without anyone else."

"There's no such thing as a real lone wolf, you know that? Lone wolves are just wolves looking for a pack."

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then, that some people are so much better than others that they don't need them?"

"It's simpler than that," she told her reflection and then letting her eyes jump to his in the corner of the paned glass.

"It's simpler than what?"

"Most people aren't good enough for some people," she turned and caught the sneer that lasted for a moment on his mouth.

"People like you," it sounded like an insult. It was.

"There are no people like me, there's just me and most people in the world aren't good enough for me to bother with if it's not necessary."

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer, "What the fuck did someone do to you to make you so stuck up?"

"I'm not stuck up," she bristled with indignation and walked forward a few steps closer to where he stood. He straightened and rose to his full intimidating height pushing away from the counter but not moving any more than that.

"You should listen to yourself talk; you sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

"Why do I bother you so much?"

"Because nothing about you is real, you're fake, completely, and you think it makes you some righteous example of what-the-fuck-ever," his voice rose in volume as if he was offended by her.

"You don't think I like being alone?"

"No one _likes_ being lonely."

"Being alone and being lonely are two different things. There's a difference, being lonely implies that someone's looking for a connection with someone else or other people but it's not there or it's not happening. Being alone means that someone isn't looking for anyone else, it's a choice. It's a state of being."

She clenched her hand into a fist and took a breath to keep the flare of anger and heat contained.

"…"

"You're lonely Derek and you think a pack and a vague ambition of some ideal or purpose will change that. It won't. I'm alone because I don't have the patience to deal with people who aren't as smart as me if I don't have to."

"…"

"I'm alone because I don't care what happens to people who do stupid things while thinking they're not stupid."

"You don't know a thing about me," he hissed with a step towards her, she didn't move.

"I don't need to know your favorite color or what music you listen to in order to be able to tell if you're stupid or not."

"So _I'm_ stupid?"

"It doesn't matter if you're stupid, you're necessary and you making sure I can deal with the fucking fallout is necessary so everything else doesn't matter. You can think I'm fake and I can think whatever the hell I want about your winning personality."

"But you think I'm stupid."

"I think you're not as able to be alone as I am and I think people that can't stand to be without other people are…,"

"Are what?"

"Not looking at the big picture."

"…"

He waited for her to explain.

"Life is not a team effort, it's personal and if someone can't be alright with themselves and what they know and don't know and do and don't do then what's the point? It's selfish to drag other people down with you if you don't know if you can support their weight before you start carrying them around with you. Which is what you're doing, snatching people up to carry them around with you to prove that you're a better alpha, when you fuck up you're not the only one who has to figure it all out it's everyone else to. Why would I, if I even was the pack-type, want to be in a pack like that, why would anyone. Figure your own shit out first is all I'm saying."

"I have to go," he stepped around her and made for the back door.

"Wait," she caught his eyes in the glass of the door.

"What?"

"Think what you like, but I don't say things _just_ to piss you off."

"It happens anyway when you talk a lot of the time."

"I say what I want."

"Maybe you should filter what you say if you don't want to piss people off." He turned and let the words sink in.

"I don't care enough to not say things that will piss you off, you're necessary sure, but you're not an integral part of my existence it doesn't bother me if you're pissed off, that's your deal not mine."

"I'm going now."

He turned again and she stamped a foot in aggravation that he was leaving before she said everything that she wanted to say, "Hey!"

"What?"

"I'd rather you say what you want than spew out useless bullshit or leave because you're irritated it's counterproductive to the whole reason you show up and my acknowledgment that you show up for a good reason. When you leave just because you're pissed off I start thinking that maybe you are stupid to not really understand your pride is secondary in this whole thing."

"Okay," he looked at her, "You're a cunt. How's that for being not counterproductive to showing up and you acknowledging my showing up?"

"If it makes you less of a sour wolf then, by all means, call me a cunt all you want. See you later."

"Tonight," he mumbled without turning for the door.

"Okey dokey," she replied pouring his remaining coffee into the sink

"…"

When the door didn't open she stopped reaching for the sponge to do the dishes with, "I thought you were leaving."

It came out of her mouth sounding like a taunt, even to her.

"If you think I care more about ego than people dying _you're_ an idiot."

She sighed, a parting shot. He wanted to argue, so did she. She turned fixed him with an impatient look, "I didn't say that."

"You did and maybe you shouldn't contradict yourself if you want to seem smarter than me."

"Are you trying to make a point?"

She leaned into the counter and took up a careless posture of indifference with her bare heel against the bottom of the cabinet, toes pressing into the tiled floor.

"You've got a lot of pride and not much else right now and you want to lecture everyone else but you can't point that finger at yourself."

"You know Derek it's hard to believe your bullshit when I know exactly what it is you haven't been telling me," she snapped wanting him to take the bait so she could get out what had been bothering her for the past day and a half.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I heard what that kid said to you about killing your uncle. Why would _he _have to do it, why would he want to? What did he mean by he'd die if he'd have to stay this way?"

"…," he stiffened and seemed uncomfortable with the topic; she pressed on with a smirk and a quick raise of her eyebrows.

"No remark? Yeah, because you may not have lied but you have secrets and I don't comment but I know you know things and you haven't exactly been forthcoming with information."

"So?"

"So, you never mentioned there might be a cure."

"I wouldn't have told you it was a possibility."

"Why?"

"Between you and that kid, he would have deserved the opportunity before you would."

"Who said I wanted a cure?"

"Why bring the subject up then?"

"Because between me and the highschool kid I'm worth more, consider that the next time you _hide_ information from me."

"You think so?"

She didn't know how to respond to the question, the fact that he would ask offended her. As if she was worth less than a silly highschool kid who thought he was going to die if he had to live life as a werewolf.

"…"

"What are you not sure of your self-worth all of a sudden?" He goaded looking smug and self-assured.

"It's your's I'm not sure about," she spit.

"I'd reconsider that."

"Would you, really? Why? Because you're an _alpha_? Because you hide stuff and lie about others? What do you know that I can't find out with a little time and practice? What do you do that I can't do myself quicker because I'm not a fugitive?"

"…"

"What have you got that I want? Nothing, there is nothing coming from you I can't get for myself, your way is quicker but not if you jerk me the fuck around."

Her hands clenched tightly around the edge of the counter.

"If you feel that way by all means ride out the full moon by yourself without help, see how far that self-worth gets you," his tone was venomous and his eyes narrowed in half-awake rage.

"Where has yours gotten you?"

"I'm leaving."

"Are you? I'd hate for you to get captured again."

He turned fully and walked a few steps in fast progression before catching himself and snarling, "What is your problem?"

"You and you're stupid ego."

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about!"

"You think you're the solution to whatever problem it is you're trying to work out and when you fuck up where does that put me? In the middle of the whole thing!"

"…that's what you're ragging on me about? What _could_ happen? Hate to break it to you but you're a werewolf, what did you think that entailed? Meetings about finance and lunar calendars and networking?"

"I know what I am," she replied low and harsh.

He eyed her up and down for a moment before giving her a look that said he didn't believe her.

"Do you? Because in case you haven't noticed you're still wearing the clothes you killed Bambi in, do you consider that normal behavior, do you even remember killing it, why you did it? Huh? What's with the quiet stare, I thought you liked to talk?"

She smiled, slow and vicious, "I remember, hard to forget after I stalked it for six hours and wrangled it with dead rabbits, hard to forget when I started planning to do it a week ago when I first saw it. Hard to forget when you do something you've wanted to for awhile."

"You think you're in control of it but you're not, there's a reason for packs and you're the example."

"Example of what?"

"What happens when there isn't a pack for rogue wolves."

"I never said I wanted to be part of a fucking pack."

"Then you better learn to fucking control yourself on your own or someone will put you down, it doesn't just start and end with rabbits and deer. It's a progression and it escalates."

"Don't tell me that I don't know how to control myself."

"You think it takes a couple of days? It. Takes. Years," he stressed and for a moment his eyes flashed that hell-shaded red she'd seen in the woods.

"I'm a quick study."

"Be glib if you want and act like you know better, it'll take one moon, two, three if you're lucky but you'll kill someone and enjoy it and then someone with a gun will hunt you down and shoot you in the head and you'll be dead and that's it. That's how far pride will fucking get you."

"I know."

He threw up his hands and stalked a step forward and back, rocking in irritation as if wondering how he'd gotten into having such an inane conversation with her.

"If you know then shut up and it ends, the conversation doesn't need to go on with you getting the last word. Stop acting like a child."

"You know what else might get me shot? You," she didn't want to end the conversation. Didn't want to let it rest, there was something about seeing how far she could push him. There was something in her that wanted to fight and yell and make someone snap.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You think you're going to be a better alpha than your uncle? All you got is more problems, two werewolves maybe three, guys with guns, and then every tom, dick, and harry associated with that kid knowing all about what's going on," and then she saw the peek of white from behind his lips the gleam and sheen of his eyes.

She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes and it wasn't meant to do anything more than try and be demeaning, "And don't tell me about the moon, you're the only one here with their fangs hanging out."

He looked at his hands and forced the wolf down, caged it somewhere deep and took a breath through his nose. He was angry, she was pleased.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Don't ask like it's not your problem."

"…"

"You inherited all this baggage and you ask what _I_ want you to do? You scowl at everything that comes out of my mouth because you don't like what it sounds like, because any idea that doesn't come from you isn't worthwhile but all you do is bumble along with your baggage and dropping it as you go."

"…"

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Fuck you," he said lowly his eyes dangerous.

"Fuck me? No, you're the one who's fucked. You don't have a plan for anything, dude. Get your shit together and start thinking of how to fix some things before you break other ones. Do you get that?"

"Yeah, and what are you going to do? Kill rabbits in the woods?"

"…"

"…"

"In total it took me about three days to figure out how to not make you a fugitive anymore, I also dragged you out of the line of fire and made sure you didn't die the other night. I'll do what I have to do in order to not die, do you understand that? I'll plan but it means nothing if you refuse to listen because you think I'm a cunt. Because I am. Not going to change, live with it."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Got any other plans?"

"I need details to make plans; I also need a situation to plan for."

"What good are you if you can't fill in the blanks?"

"One thing at a time, and to be honest I'm pretty sure I'm the least of your troubles."

"Scale and degree are two different things."

"What's that mean?"

"Figure it out, you're so smart."

"I'm not the biggest problem but I'm the most constant and aggravating?"

"You _are_ smart."

"You're not proving what you're worth, you know, besides a migraine."

"If I hadn't shown up after he bit you you'd be dead."

"Too bad there's no way to know for sure."

"Heh, denial is comfortable I'm sure."

"…"

"I've proved exactly what I'm worth, all you've done is talk and occasionally it's useful but never necessary and that's the difference right there: I'm necessary to you_ surviving_ but not the other way around. Useful isn't the deciding factor necessary is, think you're saving me by cutting out a few arrows that will pop out anyway or injecting something that speeds things up all you like but realize that it doesn't take much effort or thought to draw a line in between useful and worth my time."

"Thanks for filling in the blanks."

"I'm leaving now."

"Tonight."

"…tonight," he affirms and she knows he only spoke to get the last word because he doesn't want her too.

The door clicks shut and her dog trots into the room with his snout low and his eyes down, reaching down to pet him she sighs, "Word," she states and snickers for too brief a moment to really count. Looking down at her dog she contemplates the situation and decides that despite the angry words and low blows the air is clearer than before, at least they're being honest with each other, "Mad skills and strategies, Brigs. You get me? Useful _is_ the only thing worth anyone's time. Dumb fuck."

She can't bring herself to smile knowing that she's wrong and he's right, necessary and useful aren't worth the same thing.

It's with an edge of malevolent glee that she waits for dusk and the opportunity to tie him up inside a burlap sack and beat him with a baseball bat. Simple pleasures she sighs to herself as she does the dishes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I know there were some moments in here where someone reading definitely thought I was about to write some smut, I apologize ahead of time for the frustration and angry yelling at the computer screen. Yes Lucette sees Derek naked, yes she thinks he looks good naked, no she doesn't start having explicit Derek fantasies. She's seen a penis before she's a nurse, a penis in itself is not the world's most beautiful thing to look at despite it being Derek's penis. Just putting it out there that being naked to Derek, in my opinion, wouldn't be a big deal since he is a werewolf and has lived with them I imagine that he's used to it. Not that werewolves are nudists but that if someone walks out of the woods naked it's not such a big deal for them. Lots of talking I know, there won't be so discussion next chapter, or at least not so much between just the two of them. For anyone that has read the Fever Series, yes I totally did write "Stop staring at my dick." I had to restrain myself from making Lucette say "I need to in order to compose an ode to its perfection." If you haven't read the Fever Series by Karen Moning, DO IT! It's an urban fantasy series with sex and violence and humor.


	12. The Poultice

**Title: **Live Hard

**Summary:** He may not even be considered much of a person anymore but the moon does things that bring out what he used to be, there's a reason the doctor has him on a sedative and there's one unlucky nurse's name on the bottom of the incident report following the bite.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Language, violence, sexual content

**Spoilers:** There are some but they are few and far between for the most part, this story works around the main storyline while incorporating it at key points.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf

**A/N: **This chapter just wanted to go way over 10,000 words for some reason; I don't know what it was.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 59:<strong>

She wasn't always the type to gloat but on certain occasions it felt all too appropriate to let her big headedness show, and she all but strut down the aisles of the drug store while humming as she perused the store brand supply of razors and hair products with the knowledge that she would be able to tell Derek Hale that she had told him so within the hour.

To avoid due recourse she decided it best to make a goodie bag of vital necessities for his convalescence at the local motel while under police enforced seclusion as they tied up the loose ends of the Beacon Hills' animal attack case. The Sheriff had called early in the morning with the job opportunity and she hoped she hadn't sounded too smug on the phone during their brief conversation.

She got carded for buying cigarettes but it made her mood all the more vibrant, she all but skipped through the parking lot with the thought that she was indeed a brat on the inside making her cheeks apple and her eyes squint from the involuntary smile.

Driving to the motel she decided that, depending on his mood, she was going to pick at him with the insistence of actually paying her since she was technically going to be his nurse, but only if he was up to listening to her constant needling. She was a brat but she wasn't cruel.

A police officer sitting in a plain brown sedan honked at her as she walked across the parking lot of the motel to get her attention, she waved and walked over.

"Hi," she waved a loose hand and looked over the contents of the sedan, there was nothing too exciting about the beige leather interior beyond the empty coffee cups and convenience store snacks wrappers of a makeshift breakfast on the floor of the passenger foot space.

"Hello."

"I'm Lucette Bramble."

"Officer Taglioni," he reached out the window and shook her hand firmly before she stepped away and he stepped out.

"Nice to meet you, should I just go in or what?" Pointing with her thumb to the hotel rooms she adjusted her grip on the plastic bag as she raised it with her hand.

"The Sheriff said you could go right in, you're early though and he was grumpy when I went in at the beginning of my shift to make sure he was still there."

"I'd be grumpy to I guess, you know?"

He looked back at the closed car door behind him and considered the content of his cup holders as he leaned in for the second cup with some difficulty and held it out to her, "Yeah. I got coffee, didn't know how you took it."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Let's go then," he handed off the coffee to her and walked across the parking lot to the room marked four seventeen.

The room was nice, big and with a kitchen. There was a couch and a chair and a television with the bedroom behind another door. It was dark as they stepped in with the glow from the stove light the only illumination besides the rectangular void filtering in from behind them and casting their shadows as dark lunges across the furniture and opposite wall.

With the light flicked on she strode forward and dropped her messenger bag onto the couch, keeping the plastic shopping one in hand before turning to the officer who followed on her heels as she crossed the room to the bedroom door.

"You'll have to wait out here," she told him curtly while listening to the harsh keel of the heartbeat belonging to the one person she couldn't see, it even out in what she decided to herself as relief after she spoke. "Why?"

With one hip cocked and her tone professional she explained the situation as it was to the police officer, "He's my patient and unless he tells me you can be in the room then you can't be in the room while I do my job. HIPPA. Privacy stuff for nurses and doctors, liability issue."

The words sunk in and with a small nod the older man seemed to come to the decision that he liked the arrangement she had set into place, it appeared he wasn't excited with going with her to greet Derek Hale in the first place and was glad to have a reason not to, "Oh. You okay by yourself?"

Lucette waved a hand and rolled her eyes happily with a small grin, "I've have patients a lot worse than grumpy, I'll be alright. Thanks." She waited until the officer had settled onto the couch and asked if she minded if he turned the news on before giving him to go ahead to do as he pleased and turning the doorknob to the bedroom.

She shut the door behind her and put the plastic bag down at her feet trying to be quiet because it was dark and she'd always been a quiet speaker if the lights were turned off, "Awake?"

"…"

He was but he declined to answer beyond rolling in some way on the bed that gave her no clue as to how he lay because in the dark he was only an anamorphous blob of space on the bed. She went over and sat down on the floor next to the side of the bed and prodded him in the deltoid with a finger.

"Dead?"

"…"

She pressed harder into the firm mound of muscle before a hand shot out and wrapped it inside the tight circle of his fingers. "Alive then, I see," she reached to turn the knob of the small lamp sitting on the nightstand when he released her finger and shuffled amongst the bed linens.

His face was twisted by a scowl as he squinted in the dim and unwelcome light casting a grimy yellow halo of light across the nightstand and the half of the bed where he lay. She wanted to tell him he looked like shit but refrained, "Sore?"

"…"

His squinted eyes looked at her warily from his smashed faced posture on the thin pillow cradled on top of his forearms and under his cheek. There were livid shadows of bruising across the back of his arms and above his shoulders from where the baseball bat had landed in hard lines. It almost made her feel bad about the entire plan but not enough to give an unnecessary and unfelt apology.

"I told you he'd call," she grinned with a shit eating smile that was too smug by half.

"…"

His expression was inscrutable and it confused her, "I brought presents," she offered at a loss as to how to get him to join the conversation.

"…"

With an irritated sigh she leaned back on her arms and sunk her palms into the unsurprisingly hard carpeting of the floor, "You going to say anything?" She cocked her head and gave him an expression that clearly told him she didn't really think that it was the time to be so mum.

"Anything," he ground out in a low grumble, his lips barely moving.

"Lame attempt at humor," she informed him before standing and shaking her head. "Sit up," she commanded with crossed arms and her nurse posturing taking over as she looked down at him.

"I have a fever," he told her while rolling up and around to sit, the sheets pooling into his lap and the flat elastic waistband of his utilitarian black briefs peeking out. He looked ruffled and petulant and not at all in the mood to be talked to or do any talking himself.

"It's not infected. You're just dehydrated so you're temp is up," she explained leaning down and lifting the edges of the bandaging on his abdomen and sniffing the air to try and pick up the scent of purulence from the drainage on the padded dressing, there was none and she was relieved.

"You hit like a seven year old kicked off the little league team."

She smiled stupidly before answering, "Broke your arm."

"Hairline fracture."

"Semantics," she sing-songed.

"What's in the bag?"

"House warming stuff, shampoo, shaving cream, toothbrush, things like that. Did you need me to go out and get something for you?"

"No," he rubbed at his hair and it stuck up between his fingers in a roguish cowlick that would not be encouraged to lie flat against his scalp despite his ministrations.

"Alright. You can lay down for a second. Relax. I've done a dressing change before," she chastised when he gave her a look that asked if she knew what she was doing as she retrieved supplies from the plastic bag still sitting by the door. "You're beside manner sucks," he informed her as she tore away the tape sticking to his skin without warning.

She smiled a little at the notion and sat down at the edge of the bed pulling away the padded bandages, "I'm sorry. Did you want me to croon a little ditty for your listening pleasure?" He snorted as she pressed at the edges of the half healed wound, examining for tender areas or pockets of fluid.

"You sing off key."

"Sinatra only sang three notes," she commented tearing opening packaging and extracting gauze from the plastic pocket of it. "You're no Sinatra," he answered sinking further into the pillows propped up behind him.

"And Noel Coward couldn't even sing," she pointed out tipping a bottle of sterile water over onto the square of meshed fibers in her palm, pulling at the sheets for access to the lower edges of the large open gouge torn into his abdomen. "Don't know who that is," he admitted when she paused to remove a towel from the bathroom and throw it across his lap to avoid dampening the sheets.

"Of course you don't," she cleaned the edges of the injury before throwing the soiled gauze onto the floor on top of the used bandaging, "You know what's strange?" She asked before unscrewing the cap on a tube of wound gel.

"No," his eyes flinted behind closed lids as if he was watching something move in his own half-involved thoughts.

"That there's another couch in here," Lucette looked across the room at said couch.

"Why is that strange?" He seemed to shrug further into the headboard as she squeezed the clear gel into a gloved hand and let it warm in her palm before applying it with gentle fingers. His muscles tensed and didn't relax even after she had finished and discarded her turned out gloves onto the floor.

"Because a couch is a living room type of furniture and there is already a couch in the living room area of this, so why put another one in here?"

"Ask the building manager."

"I should, it bothers me."

She pressed an abdominal pad into place and unrolled a length of gauze with nimble fingers across the bed sheets. With a hand curved on his shoulder she pulled him forward, he shifted and sat up fully, opening his eyes and looking at her face instead of what her hands were doing.

Wrapping his wound as carefully as she could from her perch on the edge of the bed she tried to be quick and keep the dressing firm but not too tight. Her fingers spread across the expanse of his back and along the edge of his briefs as she wound the gauze around his other side.

"You should cut your nails."

"I like them long."

"You just scratched me."

"You're whining."

She taped the gauze and repeated the process with an elastic bandage to keep everything where it should be.

"Is there really a law that keeps him out of the room when you do this?"

"Yeah. There is actually," she attached the edge of the elastic to another part of it with metal clips and eyed her work, "…," he ran his fingers over the bulk of the bandaging and considered it before letting his hand fall back onto the bed. "I don't lie about everything," she sighed and picked off the butterfly closure strip on his forehead.

"You just scratched me again," he looked at her as if she had done it on purpose.

"Sorry. I need to polish them, their chipping," looking at them she decided that they really needed some maintenance.

"Can you focus on what you're doing instead of what color to paint your nails?"

"You're grumpy."

The twist of his lips into something akin to a sneer was all he got to give her before a knock resounded in the room; she tossed her head back and looked at the door.

"Miss Bramble."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going back to the patrol car, if you need me just come get me."

"Alright, thanks."

She turned back to him smashing his pillows into a more rotund lump behind him, "Think you can manage to keep them out of the room?" Frowning with a roll of her eyes she sniffed once, "That's not how you ask for things, you know."

"Just keep them the fuck out. They get annoying." Derek Hale twisted himself and started shoving his pillows down between the mattress and the headboard to wedge himself up on them.

His eyes half lidded and puffy from lack of sleep closed and in the harsh lightening his eye sockets looked bruised and his complexion sallow, "I wouldn't be able to sleep either if people kept coming in and out all the time," she told him staring off and taking in the room.

"I'm sleeping fine," he informed her tartly.

"Liar."

"…"

For a moment all she did was smirk at the scowl he wore without opening his eyes, she kicked her heels against the bed and sighed heavily.

"Surprised you didn't lock the door."

"They know to stay out of this room."

"They're scared of facing your wrath."

"Exactly."

"You need to shave."

"I'm not getting up."

"I can do it."

"Did you just offer to shave my face?"

"No, I stated my intention to shave your face. You look homeless."

"…"

She cringed at his silence and her choice of words.

"That wasn't a joke, it was a statement."

"It takes you a long time to shave a face."

She snorted, "You would know."

"You shaved my uncle's face, I was there, so I do know."

"It'd probably take you a long time to shave a girl's legs."

"Excuse me?"

His eyes opened as if he had to look at her for the full effect of his confusion to hit her, "I can shave my legs in like three minutes, a dude trying it would probably take a half an hour."

"Then by that logic it should take you less than a minute to shave someone's face."

She was already up and running a washcloth under hot water and filling the ice bucket from the facet, "I don't do it often enough to be that fast."

"…"

"You know old ladies get beards, I had to shave one once," she told him pressing the washcloth to his cheeks and holding it until his hands came up and took over as she lapsed in sanity and started putting on gloves before picking up the shaving cream and razor. He seemed amused that she was so used to the process of gloving up that it was so fully ingrained. She ignored the look he gave her and put the gloves down.

"That's great."

"It was weird. Can I ask you a question?"

"Can you talk and shave at the same time," he raised an eyebrow and watched as she filled her palm with shaving cream.

"Haha," she deadpanned. "If you're house is burnt down where do you eat and stuff."

"I go out and buy food and eat it," he told her before shutting his mouth as she lathered his cheeks and chin and under his nose, he blew hard through his nostrils at the stray mounds threatening to crawl into his nasal cavity.

"And…," she pressed hoping he understood her question.

"And what?"

"Well," she uncapped the razor and waved it, "you know, where do you shower?"

"Around."

"Around like under waterfalls in the woods or around like you break into houses."

"…"

His lack of answer made her pause mid-stroke down his cheek and pin him with a stare, "Have you been using my shower?" He shrugged as if the answer was obvious and not strange at all, "Yeah."

"Uncool, dude," she shook her head and tapped out the razor.

"So what?"

"Don't just invite yourself over to take a shower, that's creeper behavior."

"Or at the kid's house when no one's home."

"What's the kid's name?"

She rolled the razor over his chin in short quick strokes.

"Why does it matter?"

"Are you really not going to tell me?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I asked."

"And that means what exactly?"

"Fine, be that way."

"…Scott."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"What was the point of you asking me why it mattered if you were just going to tell me?"

"What's the point of you asking that?"

"You're annoying," she told him brandishing the razor before going on to the next cheek and then down his throat. He swallowed and she wondered if he was nervous about the sharp metal so close to vital arteries. He tilted his head back and bared his throat when he realized what she was wondering, she wondered herself if she'd been so obvious with her thoughts and if he was unnerved or unconcerned.

Something stretched sumptuously on the edges of her thoughts and she considered the lather on his throat with animal curiosity that came from what was coming to the surface. It seemed strange to her that for an alpha he showed no wariness, that he considered himself so far up on the predator scale that he had nothing to give him pause about the situation.

It irked her.

"You just nicked me," he shifted his eyes with an impatient sigh.

Automatically reining in the holds on the subtle urge to press a little harder with the razor for curiosity's sake she replied uneasily and threw up an uncaring front, "Put toothpaste on it."

She wondered if he had an inclination that she'd just, for a fleeting almost not there moment had thought about injuring him horribly.

"What?"

"You've never heard of putting toothpaste on razor nicks?"

"No."

"Guess it's a girl thing."

"Ridiculous."

"Whatever."

The verbal volley was easy but her mind was muddled with the sediment of a nature that was new making her unsure of things. Things like whether holding sharp instruments was a good idea, she wondered if it was the moon and it's growing fullness that was doing it or if her dislike for Derek Hale was more pronounced by the closer proximity.

It was odd and she wanted to ask but she didn't want to ask him. She finished the other side of his throat and handed him the cooling washcloth to wipe his face, he could do that much on his own she decided shifting away down the side of the bed.

"It's the moon."

"What?"

"You're more sensitive to smells."

"…"

"The nick."

"What about it?"

He pointed at his eyes and she closed hers not knowing that they were the lupine yellow until he'd pointed them out, "Isn't it against wolf code to go around letting other wolves around your neck?" Her tone is chiding and acidic and she catches the lilt of his lips in the most condescending half-smile she's ever seen, "Like I'd give you a real opportunity to tear it out."

"Confident," she grounds out, her eyes, she knows are that sick yellow cast for the barest moment, but he doesn't see it because she keeps her head facing forward and her sight hard on the wall.

His arms cross over his chest and his head hits the wall with a dull, muted sound and his throat is tight and corded and she looks because there is suddenly an opening and an opportunity to tear it out and even then her teeth stay in a nice even white line of enamel and her jaw does little more than clench in childish and petty agitation.

"I'm not a rabbit."

"…"

Lucette snaps her eyes away and gets up to cross the room.

"Don't worry you're just a beta."

He's amused and somewhere in her own mess of emotional tag-ends she is too because their conversation is just skirting the edge of stupid and is shaded by just enough strange and tired bleary eyed sentiments that for awhile they're just two people talking and there are no motives and there are no opinions to share. "So were you until you killed your uncle."

"…"

"That was rude," she acknowledges.

"Stunning deduction."

"Do all alphas look like that?"

"No. Some are wolves."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why wasn't he? Why aren't you?"

"It's a progression, most times. You grow into it."

"But to be an alpha you just have to kill an alpha?"

"Not always."

"It's a progression thing too, then?"

"Depending on the person."

"So some people just become alphas?"

"It's happened before. There're factors that go into it."

"Like what?"

"Mindset, instinct, ambition. There are werewolves without packs that can turn into real wolves but it doesn't make them alphas."

"Because without a pack there's no such thing as an alpha rank or a beta rank."

"Simple concept."

"Yeah, it is."

Sitting heavily and sagging into the couch she sighs and contemplates the ceiling as she leans back and crosses her arms, legs stretched out and toes pointing up from hard heels and lock-kneed shins.

"Werewolves and wolves aren't exactly the same," he tells her looking over but not moving his head more than a few inches.

Squinting at the space above her head she answers without really knowing if he means for her to respond, "It's the big similarities _not _the little differences that count, regardless of what most people think."

"The similarities only happen when you've shifted, mostly."

"Like what?"

"Like the throat thing, dominance displays."

"So werewolf dudes can be trusted around chicks with high heels on, gotcha."

She can already tell he won't immediately understand what the comment means, and she only says it because she misses being witty and having jokes that take awhile for another person to understand.

"Where's that coming from?"

"Women wearing high heels emulate a vaguely lordotic posture."

"So they look taller?"

Her grin is instantaneous because he is so wrong and it's funny and she can't help it, "High heels raise the foot's arch which causes a curve of the lower back outward."

"Oh."

"Do you get it or are you just saying 'oh,' to not have to admit you don't get it?"

"I get it."

"Good because I don't really want to have to explain that further."

When she looks at him she takes his expression to mean that he's trying very hard to puzzle something out. She doesn't dwell on it because she doesn't care to ask what he's thinking about because she doesn't care, she's much to content with the easy amiable silence to keep talking.

His posture straightened hard and jerked fully upright and still, "Someone's here."

"Cop?"

"No," his posture relaxed and she took it to mean it wasn't a werewolf assassin about to knock on the door.

"I'll send them away."

She answered the door marginally and looked out on the boy standing shifting his weight from foot to foot furtively. He ran a hand over his head and the scant ruff of shaved hair and considered her with a once over that was more for sizing up than attraction.

"Yes?"

"Is Derek Hale here?"

"No."

She made no move to shut the door and he made no move to take her answer and leave.

"…who are you?"

Lucette leaned heavier into the doorframe and took up all the space the opening of the door gave, effectively blocking the small view of the motel living room, "Kid, you knocked on my door." She raised her eyebrows in challenge.

"Stiles Stilinski," he pointed to himself with a thumb and seemed to think over the idea of offering her a hand to shake, he reconsidered mid-extension and pointed at the numbers on the door, "This is four seventeen," he looked back to her as if for confirmation. She nodded. "All prime numbers," the kid told her as if it was a ground breaking revelation, "Derek Hale is supposed to be here."

"Uh-huh," crossing her arms she hummed at the information.

"I know he's here," the kid crossed his arms and stared obstinately back at her with a hip cocked and a scowl that kept reappearing and fading.

"…," she waited.

"You're a nurse."

Her expression went blank for a moment and she chastised herself for giving him the brief opening, "Do I look like a nurse?" She questioned trying to move past the incredulous look he gave her.

"Not really," he confirmed dryly.

"Then how do you know I'm a nurse?"

"Because Derek Hale is here and he has a nurse taking care of him."

She pondered the presence of Stiles Stilinski and raised her eyebrows with a whistle, "Stilinski? As in the Sheriff." A grin grew on the teenager's face against his own volition and stuck for a small moment before he looked sheepish, "Uh, yeah. That's my dad. He's the Sheriff, and I'm his son."

"That's nice."

"You going to let me see Derek?"

"See ya kid."

She made to close the door.

"Hey! Wait!" A foot appeared in the door jamb stopping the door's closure.

"What?"

"Come on, please it's important."

His tone took on an edge of desperation that made her open the door the tiniest increments further, "Your dad know you're here, Stiles Stilinski?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't tell him."

"Should I call and tell him you're here?" She challenged with a small malicious grin to let him know he was pushing his luck. "No, okay. I'll just leave, I wasn't here." He motioned to go and turned without removing his foot from the door. "Okay, bye."

Pressing the door against his foot he whipped around, "Okay, wait. Can I see Derek Hale…, _please_?"

"You know there's a cop in that car over there, right?" She pointed out the Sedan.

"He's asleep."

"I could yell, if that would help wake him up."

"No, please don't. Just…" He pressed his shoulder heavily into the door and she scowled moving her body into a stance of coiled readiness, moving one leg forward and tensing her leg, "Don't make me knee you."

She jerked fast and he stumbled out of the door frame, a hand coming down defensively over his groin as if she was really going to go for his goods with a hard patella, "Alright, fine! Just tell him I was here, okay? Even though he's 'not here,' can you do that?"

He was turning red in the face with indignation and she found in unbearably cute, like she was babysitting a spoiled child who didn't get to do what they wanted, "If I knew what you were talking about sure, I could. I guess. If I remember," she grinned at the caveat.

"Come on, please. It's important. I went through a lot of trouble to get here."

"How much trouble?"

"…"

He frowned sourly at the idea of her joking around so quizzically, without any real interest, it only spurred her on, "Snooping on your dad is bad, kid."

"Listen lady I'm not a little kid, I can do what I want and snoop where I like," he pointed a finger and wedged his foot over the metal strip at the bottom of the door. She looked down at it and pushed the door against it, he barely winced. 'Tough kid,' she thought with an edge of grim satisfaction, "Move your foot, or lose it," she warned him all the same.

He moved it and slammed a hand against the door as she closed it.

"Can I _please_ see him?"

"No."

His shoulder butt up against the door with the force of his weight and he smiled as if superior to her and had succeeded at something only he understood, "He's here then."

"If I knew who 'he' was then maybe I could answer that but since I don't know who he is or who you are I guess I can't answer that, now can I?"

"Huh? Listen, look,"

"I'm listening, and looking and regretting opening the do-…"

A voice cut in, "Let him in. He'll just try to go through a window otherwise." She stepped aside and toed the door fully open, sweeping her arms in a grand gesture as the teenager walked in.

"Thanks," he told Derek Hale who looked sullen and pissed off.

"You need something Stilinski?"

The kid looked at her and cocked his head, pursing his lips and seeming to take pleasure in telling her off, "…Uh, privacy?"

"…," he eyes widened and her hip jutted out jauntily in disdain, she waited. Derek Hale rolled his eyes.

"Please?"

Looking towards the sloppily dressed and sleepy eyed Derek Hale she told him, "I'm going to have a cigarette." Outside the room she leaned casually next to the door and lit a cigarette.

The conversation was just as clear outside the room as it was when she'd been standing inside it; she smirked and closed her eyes as she blew out the first drag.

"Go on, Stiles."

She laughed at the tone he used.

"What happened to you?"

"Are_ you_ a nurse?"

"No."

"Then mind your business."

She laughed again and wondered when exactly Derek Hale had gotten so damn funny. Putting a hand in her pocket she jingled the change she found and looked to her right at the Motel office two rooms down and the vending machine placed next to the glass door.

"Scott's pissed."

She wondered if she'd still hear the conversation if she walked down for a soda.

"Not my problem."

There was no problem as she passed the first room after the one they spoke in.

"Actually it kind of is, since you, you know, ruined his life and everything."

The voices softened a bit but she barely had to strain to keep listening.

"I hardly ruined his life."

"And Lydia's in the hospital and me and Scott went to check on her and she hasn't healed yet and Jackson wasn't in school."

"Shouldn't you be in school, Stiles?"

She slipped her seventy-five cents in quarters into the slot and followed with the remaining required coinage; she pursed her lips and tapped a long nail over the beverage options, listening to the conversation with some active strain finally starting to build on her concentration.

"I skipped after third period to come here."

"…"

If he'd said anything after the pause she missed it between the sound of drawing smoke into her lungs and the clattering bang of the can dropping down into the cradle of the machine, waiting for her to reach in and take it.

"So what now?"

"What, what now?"

She walked slowly, a meandering stroll back to her abandoned post outside the motel room door with her soda and her smoke.

"Well um how about the what now where Lydia is in the hospital after being attacked and she isn't healing."

"Is she dying?"

"Not at the moment."

"Then she's fine."

"So she's not going to be a werewolf?"

Lydia, she rolled the name over her tongue without giving it a vocalization. 'Helpless victim, damsel in distress' she snorted into the opening of the soda can and took a piggish, unladylike gulp.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On if she survives?"

"And if it takes."

"If what takes?"

"The bite."

"It might not take?"

"Not necessarily."

"What happens then?"

'Death,' she intoned sarcastically in her mind with a morbid hand gesture of death claws.

"It's not something to worry about right now."

"I think it's exactly what we need to be worrying about now."

"Is she still unconscious?"

"Yeah."

"Don't worry about it."

"Thanks for the support man, what about Jackson?"

"He'll show up."

"He wants you to bite him."

Jackson, she pondered that name too, 'wannabe werewolf,' she smirked and shook her head at the notion and wondered if he was the boy with the killer silver ride from the previous night.

"I know."

"But you won't."

"I won't?"

"You won't right? You can't."

"I can do whatever I want Stilinski."

"Actually you can't, Scott and me aren't about to let you go sink your freakin' fangs into Jackson, do you have any idea of what that would do? Do you care?"

"I think you're under the impression that I answer to you and Scott, Stiles."

"…"

"I don't. Remember that."

"Hard to forget you're an asshole, Derek."

"Leave."

"No problem."

The door opened with a bang against the inside wall of the room, the teenager turned quick and unaware of her standing sentry outside it. She stepped back and pulled her cigarette out of his path, not wanting to accidentally catch him in the arm with it.

"Have a nice chat?" She smiled and took a drag, blowing it out to the side and trying to look as innocent and unassuming as possible, despite the toothy grin she couldn't stop from blooming on her lips.

"…"

He marched passed and she made a collection of sounds someone would make for a child who thought they were tough. He raised a one-finger salute and disappeared down the alley between the motel room buildings without a glance back.

"Little shit," she scoffed and kicked her heel out, dragging in across the cracked cement walkway.

"What?"

"He just flipped me off."

"Heh," he took the cigarette from her outstretched waving hand and breathed in the nicotine he'd been missing for the past day and a half.

"Who's Jackson?"

"You eavesdrop now too?"

"Haven't really gotten the hang of this enhanced hearing yet."

"Doesn't concern you, not really."

"So then Lydia wouldn't concern me either?"

"No."

"Alright," she took back her cigarette with quick fingers and stole the last drag, grinding the lit butt out with her toes. "Go lay down, before you open something and ruin the work I just did."

She crowded his space in a way that made him get the message to reenter the room, "What are you going to do?"

"Lounge," she shrugged.

"I'm going to sleep."

"Want me to wake you up later?"

"No, I don't need to get up to do anything."

"Alright, do you want me to hang out here or what?"

"Stay until the cop leaves."

"Okey dokey."

She sat down on the coach and watched him struggled with lifting the shirt he'd put on, eventually he gave up with trying to get it off and walked into the bedroom, working at the button on his jeans.

The door didn't close and she wondered if he was making some sort of statement with it, that he was so much the alpha that he didn't need to close and lock a door behind him while he slept. For a second she wished she was a werewolf assassin just for the opportunity to kill him in his sleep and laugh at his stupid pride.

It wasn't a very funny joke but it was her type of humor. She turned on the television and vegetated.

**Day 60:**

The phone rang and she picked it up and without preamble the voice on the line told her exactly how things were going to be a moment after she gave her standard greeting of hello as she parked her truck, "So I'm coming to visit you Friday, Saturday, Sunday, so you don't have to drive here."

"What?" She floundered.

With a businesslike tone and a tongue click her friend continued, "Friday, Saturday, Sunday. That three day weekend you told me about, I'll be coming to you instead of you coming to me."

"Oh shit, Molly," Lucette groaned. She wondered if she would be able to take a three day weekend with the other woman on the heels of the full moon.

"What? You are _not_ ditching." It was a statement not a question. "Do we have to?"

"What do you mean 'do we have to'?"

"Sorry, it's just I'm really busy."

"Bullshit, you make yourself busy. You need to take a break. I'm coming Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And we _are _hanging out."

"But I really do have a lot of work Molls."

"Fuck that. You can relax sometimes."

"Okay fine. You break up with Bubba?"

"Sort of."

"Slut."

"Thanks. I'll see you Friday bitch. I gotta go and get ready for work."

"Alright, Friday. What time?"

"After six."

"Okay, see you then."

"Bye."

"Fuck," she banged her head against the steering wheel. Twice. Then she lit a cigarette and trudged up to the motel room.

"Yo," she waved a hand half-heartedly at the man sitting on the couch with his legs thrown sloppily over the arm and his hands behind his head as he lay back across the length of the cheap and ugly upholstered furniture focal point.

"The cops aren't here anymore."

"They close the case?"

"From what I hear."

"That's good," she announced putting her bag down next to the arm chair she sat down in, legs splayed and rubber soles banging against each other as she rolled her head across the back of the chair.

"…"

"How long do you need me to stick around here? In town."

"For as long as it takes."

"As long as what takes," she put a cigarette in her mouth and struck a match across the emery board strip on the packet in came from.

"…"

"I don't need to concern myself with it, right?"

"Exactly."

He watched her wave the match out and lick her fingers to press against the glowing orange of its tip, it sizzled and she flicked the wet charred blackened bits onto the carpet.

"So how long roughly?"

"A year probably."

"A year!" She caught the cigarette as it fell off her lip and onto her jeans, wiping at the barely there singe it left.

"That's what I said."

"Why the hell would I stick around for a year?"

"Because I'm the one thing keeping you from killing people. That's enough of a reason."

"No. It's not."

"It's not?"

"Not for what you're asking."

"And what is it that I'm asking?"

"I'm your back-up. Don't you think the rewards are meager compared to what back-up entails?"

"What exactly do you want? Me to pay you or something?"

She thought and leaned back in her chair, "Yeah, actually. I would."

"Fine, how much?"

Momentarily she was stunned by the fact that he remained unmoving and lazy on the couch.

"…"

"Well?" He pressed arching back his head and opening his eyes.

"One, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero," she rattled off.

"A hundred thousand?"

"Nice even six digit number."

"In how many payments."

"Lump it."

"Okay."

"Okay?" The situation and the conversation seemed unreal.

"Yeah, okay."

"You have a hundred thousand dollars to just give me," she was incredulous of the idea but she was hopeful all the same.

"Yeah, I do."

"You a bad guy Derek?"

"Depends on who you ask by the end of the year, is that a problem?"

"No."

"Good." He let his head fall back flat onto the couch and disappear behind the arm of it.

"As long as you do your own dirty work then I don't care."

"Even if I am a bad guy there are certain things I wouldn't involve you in."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you in my pack."

"I wouldn't be in your pack if you _begged_ me."

"No one's going to go begging for _you_ to join their pack."

"Ouch, that hurts."

"Besides, you can't leave."

"Why not?"

"You need to learn how to tell who's a wolf, how to handle certain things."

"Things like what?"

"Other wolves trying to recruit. Some packs aren't picky."

"And you're going to teach me how to be a tough girl?" She mocked with a snort.

"Not what I meant."

"So there are packs that just roam around looking for other werewolves?"

"Yes. But even if you know who's a werewolf and who's not things happen."

"Mortal combat," she suggested earnestly excited at the idea.

"Sometimes," he confirmed.

"Are you being serious?"

"Why would I joke?"

"I don't know, so what then?"

"Packs have identifiers."

"Werewolf coat of arms."

"Not really."

"Is that what your tattoo is?"

The question made him pause and it felt nice to surprise him with an unobvious inquiry, "I don't have a complete pack so it doesn't matter."

"But that's like a _werewolf_ tattoo?"

"Yes."

"So that's going to be your pack identifier?"

"It could be. But that isn't something to worry about now."

"Matters for another time."

"Yes."

"Okay."

She let the matter settle itself in the silence of the room. He made a gesture for a cigarette and she tossed him her pack.

**Day 61:**

It occurred to her that Derek Hale was not a very fun person to watch movies with, not that she had wanted to watch a movie with him but he had shown up and sat down while she was sitting down and watching a movie so the situation came to be that she was watching a horribly dated horror movie with Derek Hale who was completely lackluster about the whole movie watching experience.

"Would you have gone out in the woods?" She asked watching the way he watched the movie, as if completely uninterested in the cult classic. She couldn't fault him; she was equally unenthralled by it.

"That's like asking someone if they'd walk across a hundred miles of desert in a parka for a hundred million dollars."

"Depends on the time of day."

For a moment he watched the movie play as if not quite understanding what was going on even though he_ knew_ exactly what was going on but didn't want to actually know that it was going on. She smirked when he turned his head away and looked down at her dog to have something else to look at.

His discomfort made her darkly amused, she watched the scene and said nothing when he tentatively looked back after it was finished, she wanted to say something about how _she _should have been the one to cover her eyes but it seemed superfluous to mock him and his obvious issue with watching a helpless girl stumble through a grove of horny demon trees with an obvious end result.

"Noon," he supplied succinctly.

"Of course," she smiled shifting in the chair and throwing her legs over the arm and her shoulders across the other to tip her head back to look at him.

"Your sense of humor is astounding."

"Look up what a desert is," she rolled her head back up and watched the movie.

"…"

Her phone tapping and shaking across the surface of her coffee table made her less aware of his lack of answer. The display brightened and the message was unexpected.

"It's barren land," she informed him while scrolling down in the text message to the picture accompanying it. "Doesn't have to be hot for it to be barren, there are arctic deserts so your analogy lacks merit," she locked the keypad of the small device and shoved it down into her pocket with a lift of her hips.

"…"

"But I know what you meant and I understand your analogy in your small minded association of a hot desert and this situation and the futility of trying to ride it out, got it. But they have arctic deserts so you just got learned."

"I just got learned?"

"Yup," she hefted herself up and went up the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a pen and a big piece of paper."

"For what?"

"Battle tactic practice," she called down the staircase, ignoring his obvious confusion or lack of interest because she was saying nonsensical things.

She sat on the floor and spread out a sheet of design paper and made neat, precise lines with the edge of a magazine sitting on the coffee table. "What are you drawing?"

"The board."

"For what?"

"Chess."

She wrote in letters on the squares based on the picture from her phone and brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top and leaning forward tapping her lips with the pencil's eraser.

"You're missing pieces."

"So is He. We've been playing for awhile."

With her teeth sunk into the small pink nub of the eraser she swung the pencil up and down with her lips and looked over the drawing.

"He?"

"My dad," she told him tilting her head to look up at him from where he'd moved to stand over her shoulder. "We've been playing this since before I left to come here to work."

"It takes you that long to finish a chess game?"

"We text our moves to each other, so it's sporadic."

"Who's winning?"

"Him."

"Who usually wins?"

"Him."

"Are you any good?"

"Of course I am; I have half his genes."

"But you aren't winning."

"I'd beat you."

"I don't know how to play."

"Pity."

"Is it easy to learn?"

"Yeah but it's not a chance game, it's strategy…logic, and if you play enough it's like habits."

"Habits?"

"I'd know I was playing against my dad even if I didn't actually know. It's a style."

"So are you going to lose?"

"Of course I'm going to lose."

Admitting that she was going to lose was easy, she'd come to terms with the idea that she was going to lose against her father. It was ingrained in her to know that the chances of her losing far outweighed her winning on any day and on any occasion.

"Why? You said it's a habit, right? If it's a habit it's predictable."

"His habit is winning."

"Why isn't it yours?"

"My dad's had over fifty years to learn how to hide his next move, I've had about half that amount of time, and he can read me better. He knows what moves I'll make."

"Because he raised you?"

"Because I'm easier to read than he is. But most people are when compared to him. It's good practice."

"Are you close?"

"Eh, not really. Not in a grander sense of things, me and him and my sister have the dynamic of people who just live together, we're all very different."

"No mother?"

"Not one to speak of, they figured out on their own that they didn't like each other very much. So they got a divorce."

"So she's alive."

"Of course she's alive, did you think she was dead?"

"Yes."

"Oh. How come?"

His questions made her wary of his motives, she wanted to ask him questions and see how he enjoyed it. Lucette wondered if that was his idea.

"Because you've only mentioned your dad."

"Have I? Well, logical conclusion," she wiggled the pencil between her fingers so fast that its image blurred, "No, she's not dead. What's it like growing up with fifteen people in a house?"

"Fourteen."

"I was kidding about the fifteen people."

"I'm not."

"That's a lot of people."

"It was."

"Who did you grow up to be like?" She questioned absentmindedly when he squat down at her level to look at the large square of paper.

"What?" He looked at her. She looked back, "Most people grow up like someone they grew up with, or they try at least."

"I didn't."

"It happens."

"Who are you like?"

"You learn from the best," she grinned.

"Your dad."

"Mostly. Little things I'm like other people about or in, things that don't pop up much but I know they would. And If I'm being honest I guess part of certain things has to do with a best friend I had growing up."

"But you're not like them?"

"No, not at all. She was much…kinder and nicer and she was always that little bit smarter and I learned how to be smarter than other people because she was the one who always got that point above me and it made me so mad and every time I'd do better I'd be _such_ a brat about it."

"So you learned how to be smarter?"

She laughed without any real humor, "No, you can't learn that. I learned how to handle brats who every once in awhile were smarter on paper than you by being ingratiatingly accommodating, that sounded pompous, heh."

"So you learned how to be nicer."

"No, meaner. Her being humble always made me angrier even when I got a better grade. After we went off to do our own things I realized she had an inner bitch because she knew her being humble made me mad but she did it anyway. Kind of made me appreciate her more."

She traced the shapes of the squares on the drawn board in the air above with the pencil, idly, eyes flicking over each empty space, each remaining piece.

"You going to make a decision anytime soon?"

"I'm considering the variables, the combos, it can take awhile. Why are you here anyway, did you need something?"

She didn't give him a look but the tone made it clear that she could have.

"I said I'd be showing up."

"Nothing on television at the hotel? Need somebody to talk shit with? Do you find my personality and conversation skills dazzling?"

"I had things to drop off."

"How nice, I love gifts."

"…," he raised an eyebrow and didn't bare even a hint of a smile, despite her own.

"Oh pooh don't give me that look," she pouted.

"Pooh?"

"Yup. Not like pooh bear but," she shrugged, "I don't know, I like the sound."

"Whatever."

"So what'd you bring me?"

"That," he pointed to the black duffel bag on the coffee table blocking the view of the couch.

"What is it?"

"For the full moon."

She lifted her weight onto her feet and turned with her knees pointed out, she didn't bother to stand and just shuffled like a squat gargoyle to the table, banging her knees down when the bag was in reach, and ending her strange waddling walk.

Unzipping it and looking inside she pulled out a length of heavy silver links, they chimed as they ran over her palm and back on top of the spiraled pile of what was left in the bag, "Damn."

"Don't say whatever it is that you're thinking of saying, it's not as funny as you think it is," he warned. She gave him a smirk that wasn't returned.

"I'm not that cliché. So for the full moon am I going to have to figure out how I'm going to get myself into these things or what?"

"I'll do it. It's a precaution."

"Understandable. Have you had to do this before?"

"Is that your attempt at humor?"

"No, why? Oh, no I didn't mean it like that, just like have you had to chain that kid up?"

"Didn't have to."

"Ah, he has a partner in crime aware of his lycanthropic state."

"Yes."

"So who's going to chain you up?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Not worried, curious."

"Dead cats."

"Satisfaction brought it back."

"What?"

"Curiosity assuaged therefore satisfied, dead cat resurrection. Pet cemetery, full circle."

"Hmmm."

"Yes, _hmmm_ indeed Mister Hale."

The to and fro was fun but half of her wasn't sure he always got her brand of humor.

"Back to Mister Hale?"

"Always was."

"No it wasn't.

"Sure. You ever actually chain someone up before?"

"I've seen it done."

The adolescent urge to giggle and throw an innuendo floated to the surface but she reminded herself that some things were only appropriate with best friends, and Derek Hale was not exactly B. F. F. material.

"Oh? In your basement?"

"Yes."

"Why bring those here then if that's where I'll be going?"

"You won't be there, you'll be here. You have your own basement."

"What exactly am I being chained to?"

"Metal chair."

"I have a book on the topic."

"What topic?"

"Tying people up. You ever tie someone to a chair before?"

She waddled back to her picture representation spread out across the wood floor of her living room next to the television where a demon possessed teen was being hacked into pieces.

"Not a hard thing to do, I can figure it out."

"I can't have any spot to build momentum from; it's more complicated than most people think. If you do it wrong and I wolf out and want to go out and kill something I'll break something that I wouldn't want to break in half, like my spine. I'm fond of my spine."

"You've been tied to a chair before?"

"I read the book on it; actually experiencing it firsthand hasn't come up until now."

"Like escapes and magic tricks?"

"Like the art of bondage."

"…"

The grin was instantaneous as his discomfort flared brightly.

"I don't only read nursing textbooks. Besides it was on sale for two bucks at the store. How do you not buy a book like that?"

"That makes so much sense."

"Well, I mean besides a book where would you find out things like that? Do you have a dominatrix or magician in your social circle? I don't. See my point?"

"Yes."

"You want to read the book?"

"No."

"Scared it has pictures?"

"…"

"I'm just fuckin' with ya."

"I know."

"But to be serious it's just a pattern to follow, nice guideline and all. I'll flip through and find something appropriate that will work, I'd hate to get out and eat someone."

"Obviously."

"I did not need a response to that statement."

"Is this what you do all day?"

"Depends on 'what' it is you're referring to."

"Sit around all day."

"I'm a solitary and lethargic creature."

"Do you always talk like that?"

"Like I'm a Webster dictionary?"

"Yes."

"Pretty much."

"It's pompous."

"Thanks. My friends find it endearing."

"…"

"Speaking of which after the full moon, don't come over for a few days."

"Why?"

"Surprise inspection."

"…"

"I'll have a guest over, may look strange to have a dude sitting on my couch."

"Why would that be strange?"

"Because Dee Jay isn't a real person and I doubt you want to play that persona, no wait _I_ don't want you to play that persona, I don't want you to play _any_ persona. Just don't show up and I won't have to make an awkward excuse."

"Now is not the time to have guests."

"I'm aware."

"So then don't invite people over."

"I didn't invite her; she's invited herself because she's a nosy twat with no one to bother since her bubba has become lackluster."

"Who are you talking about?"

"My friend Molly and her need to bother me when she has no one else to bother even though she hates the way I act. Don't know why she's my best friend, it just kind of happened."

"You don't like your best friend?"

"The complexity of interpersonal relationships is not a light topic. I'd prefer to think about chess right now."

"Would you stop talking like that?"

"My domicile."

She erased two of her own pieces positions on the board and switched them.

"Why did you rearrange two of your own pieces?"

"That's my move. Castling. I haven't moved my King or either Rook and my Queen is already moved. See?" She pointed and he nodded looking at where her finger had moved. "He thought I was going to Castling on this side," she waved a hand over the left side of the grid, "but last turn when I moved my Knight, the one that sits over here, he didn't know I wanted him to capture it."

"But you didn't put your King over there."

"No. Because that's what I wanted him to think I was doing."

"So you moved where he thought you wouldn't."

"Yes. But it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because he's planned for both ways, regardless. He'll take my bishop next, this one," she pressed a finger to a square. "Not next move but it's what he'll capture and I've already lost. I'll get his Queen though."

"Why do you play if you know you'll lose?"

"Strategy. I need more information to make a plan. Only way to get that information is to play until I lose and then play again and lose some more."

"Doesn't sound like fun."

"It's not everyone's cup of tea," she shrugged agreeing, staring at him.

"What?" He seemed confused by the amused look she gave him.

"Chess is about more than fun," she explained.

"It's a game."

"Not all games are fun; do you think just because it's fun?"

"No. And that's a bad comparison"

"Well Chess is a lot like that. It's about thinking and patterns. You can tell a lot about a person by how they play chess."

"How they move you mean?"

"Mmhmm."

"What does it say about you?"

"Learn how to play then tell me."

"You don't know what you play like?"

"Don't start; I'm in a good mood."

"How do you play?"

"I play because my dad is much better than me at it."

"…"

"Get it?"

"No."

"Ha."

"I don't get it because that was a 'why' answer instead of a 'how' answer."

"Did you mean how I myself play or how in general does the game work in order to play it?"

"How _you_ play it."

"I feel like I've already answered the question," she admitted, texting off her move to her father and then turning to watch the television.

"You haven't."

"Okay," she raised her shoulder and let her gaze go glassy from the bright orange shade of blood spray from the movie.

"…"

"…"

"People are like chess pieces," she mused not looking away from the screen.

"Are they?"

"Uh-huh. Relationships are too."

"Relationships?"

"Association wise not romantic notions wise," she explained as he sat down on the couch.

"When you only say half of what it is the thought was it's hard to follow your meaning," he responded after considering the statement.

"Sorry," she mumbled no longer interested with clarifying beyond what she'd already said.

"What piece is you?"

"Which do you think?"

"I know which one you think you are."

"Heh, you're funny. I know which one you think I think I am but you're wrong."

"Am I?"

She turned and leaned an elbow onto the edge of the coffee table, looking at him from around the black duffel, "I'm not the Queen."

"…"

"I'm a Knight. Figure that analogy out," she challenged with a toss of her hair.

"Wouldn't be the same as yours."

"Yes, highly doubtful," she agreed.

"Unsurprisingly."

"Oooh, sarcasm."

"What am I?"

"If you can't figure out my analogies then there'd be no point since I don't want to explain it and you'd come up with the wrong reasoning."

"Would you tell me if I was right?"

"I'd tell you if you were wrong."

"So, tell me then."

"If you don't die by silver bullet you'll be a Rook, one day."

"But that's just people as pieces."

"Association wise, you and me, we're a castling, as a move, not as separate pieces mind you, King Derek," she smiled widely.

"Old crow," he countered.

"Now _that_ was funny. Now who's a Webster dictionary?"

"Rook and crow are monosyllabic words."

"_Monosyllabic_, how wordy of you," she whistled.

"Shut up." It was too late, she caught the close eyed silent laugh he gave after she had spoke.

"Did you know a group of crows is called a murder?"

"Dumb name."

"But appropriate."

"Because their ugly birds that eat dead things?"

"No."

"…"

"…"

"Fine. Why is it appropriate?"

"You ever seen a group of crows, Mister Hale?"

"No, are you going to tell me or not?"

"Sometimes crows, in a group, surround a single crow and for awhile all they do is squawk and this goes on for awhile until one of two things happens."

"And what are the two things that could happen?"

His patience for a long conversation was growing thin.

"Either they all fly away or they peck the one in the middle to death."

"Why?"

"It means they didn't like the story."

She turned back to face the television as his eyes opened, not expecting the answer she gave and turning his head only to see that back of her head.

"What story?"

"The story the one in the middle tells them all."

"…are you serious?"

"You're a tough crowd, Mister Hale."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The high heels thing is, for anyone that didn't understand, a remark on how woman who wear high heels are more attractive to men on an instinctual level because their sacral spine is pushed out, like female cats when they're in heat or like any other non-human female mammal that is in heat. It's the universal "Let's get it on" posture of the animal kingdom. Stiles flipping Lucette off, really to me seems like something any normal person may do when they're already pissed off and then some random person just tries to get a dig in, so someone may not agree with that but Stile's is a little spitfire sometimes, he's not always nice. The movie Lucette and Derek are watching is Evil Dead, and the scene he's squeamish about is the iconic tree rape. The thing about crows is true, they are called a murder in a group, the story telling explanation is a Neil Gaiman reference. Somewhere in the chapter after the hotel scene Derek goes back to the house and Jackson shows up. Derek has already spoken to Chris Argent by this point and the police have already talked to him, the newspaper scene with Chris Argent and his wife talking about Kate has already happened somewhere in the timing of this chapter, just so everyone is clear on the timeline, the exact conversation Derek has with Chris Argent will be brought up later for anyone that's curious. This one was fun to write because for a little while Lucette and Derek are on neutral ground and after the last chapter of fighting this is kind of like the weird fallout where for a few days they have nothing to argue about. Not gonna last.


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